1C 


MR.  ABSALOM  BILLINGSLEA 


AXD 


OTHER  GEORGIA  FOLK 


BY       f 

RICHARD   M.  JOHXSTOX 

AUTHOR  OF  "  OLD  MARK  LANGSTOX  "''"  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES  "  ETC. 


WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS 


NEW  YORK 
HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  FRANKLIN  SQUARE 

1888 


Copyright,  1887,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS. 
*  :  Zlljrightk  reseritf.  ^  I 


PREFACE. 


THE  favor  accorded  to  former  publications  by  the 
author,  and  to  these  sketches  as  they  separately  ap 
peared  in  the  magazines,  has  led  to  this  present  col 
lection. 

In  essaying  to  illustrate  some  phases  of  old-time 
rural  life  in  middle  Georgia,  the  author  has  tried  to 
show  how  superior  was  the  character  to  what  might 
have  been  expected  from  the  dialect  of  the  people. 
Before  the  time  of  railroads,  when  travelling  farther 
than  twenty  or  thirty  miles  from  homes  was  rare, 
simplicity,  as  well  as  activity,  must  have  been  preva 
lent  among  country  folk.  In  this  region,  very  fertile 
and  almost  universally  salubrious,  perhaps  there  was 
as  little  of  social  distinctions  among  its  inhabitants 
as  among  tkose  of  any  other  in  the  South.  The  men 
of  culture  and  those  of  wealth,  as  a  general  thing, 
were  neighbors  of  the  uncultured,  and  those  with 
moderate  or  small  property  around  them,  and  all 
were  friends  with  one  another ;  not  only  trusting 
and  trusted,  but  helpful,  fond,  often  affectionate. 
Among  such  a  people — every  one  conscious  of  the 
freedom  of  his  manhood — whatever  was  original  or 
individual  must  find  unhindered  developments  that 

M  76628 


IV  PREFACE. 

will  be  multifold  according  to  particular  gifts,  cir 
cumstances,  and  opportunities.  As  for  the  dialect, 
not  only  those  who  knew  not  better,  but  many  of 
those  who  did,  including  some  of  the  most  eminent 
lawyers,  were  fond  of  it  to  the  degree  that  they  pre 
ferred  it  often,  not  only  when  in  sportive  moods, 
but  when  incensed  by  resentment.  It  will  be  no 
ticed  that  among  most  of  the  female  characters  in 
these  sketches,  even  of  the  humbler  sort,  dialect  is 
less  pronounced  than  among  the  men,  thus  proving 
its  oft  deliberate  use  and  preference  by  the  latter. 

The  author  felt  that  it  might  be  proper  thus  to 
preface  about  the  people  among  whom  he  was  reared, 
whom  he  has  always  loved  and  admired,  and  not  less 
for  some  oddities  of  deportment  and  dialect  with  which 
by  personal  and  professional  intercourse  he  was  made 
familiar.  From  this  same  people,  of  every  condition 
of  prosperity  and  intelligence,  have  sprung  as  many, 
he  believes  (residents  not  only  in  Georgia,  but  in 
Alabama,  Mississippi,  and  Texas),  as  from  those  of 
any  other  region  of  like  extent,  who  using  the  edu 
cational  opportunities  which  their  fathers  were  ena 
bled  to  procure  for  them,  and  inheriting  their  loyal 
ty  to  truth,  justice,  and  all  manful  behests,  have  be 
come  eminent  in  Church  and  State,  and  who  in  so 
cial  circles,  whether  in  their  own  regions  or  elsewhere, 
rank  with  the  best. 

The  author  cordially  acknowledges  his  thanks  not 
only  to  Messrs.  Harper  &  Brothers,  but  to  the  pub 
lishers  of  The  Century  and  The  Catholic  World,  for 
their  generous  co-operation  in  this  behalf. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

A  CRITICAL  ACCIDENT  TO  MR.  ABSALOM  BILLINGSLEA  .  1 
THE  BRIEF  EMBARRASSMENT  OF  MR.  IVERSON  BLOUNT  .  81 
REV.  RAINFORD  GUNN  AND  THE  ARAB  CHIEF  ....  59 

MARTHA  REID'S  LOVERS 74 

THE  SUICIDAL  TENDENCIES  OF  MR.  EPHRODTUS  TWILLEY.  Ill 

DR.  HINSON'S  DEGREE 133 

THE  MEDITATIONS  OF  MR.  ARCHIE  KITTRELL     ....  145 

THE  RIVALRIES  OF  MR.  TOBY  GILLAM 187 

THE  HOTEL  EXPERIENCE  OF  MR.  PINK  FLUKER     .     .     .  224 

THE  WIMPY  ADOPTIONS    .     . 243 

THE  STUBBLEFIELD  CONTINGENTS 278 

HISTORIC  DOUBTS  OF  RILEY  HOOD 310 

MR.  THOMAS  CHIVERS'S  BOARDER  .........  322 

MOLL  AND  VIRGIL    .  .  383 


LIST  OF   ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PAGK 

"  '  With  women  it's  sharp's  the  word  and  quick's  the  motion '  " 

Frontispiece 

" '  I  come  over  to  see  if  I  could  borry  your  k'yart  and  steers '  " . .  20 

"  He  saw  Martha  standing  on  the  piazza  " 80 

"  He  was  becoming  somewhat  of  an  aristocrat  " 82 

"  '  Look  at  that  Izik  picked  out  the  fire  '" 89 

"  '  You  heern  talk  o'  Aberham,  hain't  you  ?'  " 93 

Mr.  Triplett,  the  Sheriff  of  the  County 97 

"  '  Oh,  pa  !  pa !  have  you  sent  Madison  away  ?'" 108 

"  Jodie  was  fond  of  visiting  " 148 

"  '  And  I'm  a-namin'  o'  no  names '  " 150 

"  Soft-hearted  woman  as  Mrs.  Templin  was  " 155 

"Somehow   Mr.  Kittrell    felt   a   little   embarrassed    at   meeting 

them  together  " 161 

" '  Them  was  not  only  her  words,  but  her  wery  langwidges' "...  169 
'"Missis   Polly    Templin   vs.  Missis    Malviny  Peevy.     Debt    for 

mene  and  oudacious  insiniwations ' " 174 

'"It's   like   the   Kittr'lls    has    been    from  everulastiri'   and    for 

evermore '  " 179 

"  A  man  that  did  half  work,  he  contended,  must  expect  to  get 

half  pay  " 189 

Harmon  Griggs's 192 

"'You  b'lieve  weddin's  is  made  in  heb'n,  Mandv  ?'  " 202 


yiii  LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS. 

PAGE 

"  '  Wuz  you  a-tellin'  o'  me  the   fack-truth  when  you   said  you 

wuz  done  'ith  the  makin'  o'  coffins  ?'  " 221 

"Fool  who?" 225 

"Mr.  Fluker  felt  that  he  was  becoming  a  little  confused" 235 

Mr.  Marchman's  pressing  business  with  Mr.  Pike 239 

Mr.  Solomon  Pringle 250 

"  '  Mis'  Wimpy,  come  to  ast  might  I  cote  Miss  Milly,  sir '  " 259 

The  Return  of  the  Bee-hunters 267 

" '  You  Jes  Pringle !  don'  you  put  them  hands  on  me  '  " 273 

Mapp  and  Cynthy 283 

"  She  strolled  with  Wiley  about  the  yard  " 291 

"  '  I  got  no  physic  for  such  a  case '  " 301 

"  '  Dis  Moll  an'  me  (she's  my  sister,  an'  I'm  her  br'er),  we  ain't  no 

free  niggers;  ner  we  hain't  no  runned  away,  we  hain't'".  .  387 


A  CKITICAL  ACCIDENT  TO 
MR.  ABSALOM  BILLINGSLBA. 


"  Were  it  by  aventure  or  destene, 
As  whan  a  thing  is  schapen,  it  schal  be." 

The  Knightes  Tale. 
I. 

MR.  ABSALOM  BILLINGSLEA  was  a  gentleman  who  at  all 
periods  in  his  career,  instead  of  trying,  like  some,  to  dis 
guise  his  age,  seemed  to  feel  an  honest  pride  in  telling  it, 
even  with  circumstantiality.  Having  lived  a  bachelor,  and 
that  not  from  choice,  it  might  have  been  expected  that  this 
pride  would  have  been  subdued  after  a  lapse  that  had 
brought  him  quite  into  the  forties.  But  let  us  hear  what 
he  had  to  say  one  day  at  the  country  store  about  a  mile 
west  of  his  residence. 

"  On  the  nineteent'  o'  Febuary  I  were  forty-three,  and 
ef  I  live  tell  the  nineteent'  o'  this  Febuary  comin',  I  shall 
be  forty-four;  and  my  mother  always  said  it  were  twelve 
o'clock  of  a  Chuesday,  and  my  father  he  always  said  it 
were  the  first  day  of  his  beginnin'  a-plantin'  o'  corn  that 
year." 

The  history  of  Mr.  Billingslea  prior  to  the  attainment  of 
this  respectable  age  had  not  been  specially  eventful,  at 
least  outwardly.  Such  a  history,  perhaps,  was  not  to  be 


2       A   CRITICAL   ACCIDENT  TO   MR.  ABSALOM   BTLLIXGSLEA. 

expected  in  the  case  of  one  who  from  childhood  had  been 
deliberate  everute  sU'waess  in  speech,  gait,  work,  and  oth 
er  tfepqi'trndnt. ,'  Cbtaotra)>nly  they  are  the  quick,  the  vigilant, 
t,h$  .dating,  thata  become  historic.  Yet  there  had  been 
is;i'i>a^y;  fes  ;tw©  times;  wjien^he  believed  that  his  mind  had 
been  wrought  info  vast  excitement,  and  he  used  to  intimate 
what  might  have  happened  if  the  person  who  had  been 
the  occasion  of  that  excitement  had  been  other  than  a 
female. 

"Yes,  yes,"  he  would  say  sometimes,  in  the  calmness  of 
mature  reflection,  "they  has  ben  times — I  don't  say  when 
nor  whar — but  ef  it  had  of  ben  a  man  person  that  jes'  out  o' 
puore  devilment  made  me  feel  like  I  did  then,  people  would 
of  heerd  from  me." 

Mr.  Billingslea  was  too  prudent  and  honorable  a  man  to 
mention  names.  Yet  everybody  knew  to  what  he  alluded, 
and  it  was  some  consolation  to  him  that  they  did.  Even 
if  he  had  been  disposed  to  conceal  his  views  or  his  feelings 
upon  any  subject,  he  could  never  have  found  how  such  a 
thing  was  to  be  done ;  for  he  was  open  as  the  day,  and  as 
courageous  as  he  was  guileless.  Slow  as  he  had  been  al 
ways  in  his  movements  of  every  sort,  he  had  had  one  dear 
aspiration  that  had  suffered  a  double  disappointment.  He 
endured  as  such  a  man  can  endure,  thankful  that  his  friends 
and  neighbors  understood  and  respected  a  case  allusion  to 
which,  except  in  vague,  delicate,  confidential  phrase,  the 
proprieties  of  social  life  had  hindered.  The  whole  blame 
for  this  disappointment  he  always  had  taken  upon  himself; 
and  as  it  had  been  often  said  to  him  that  the  objects  of  his 
desire  had  not  been  attained  because  mainly  of  the  want  of 
activity  in  his  pursuit,  he  had  tried  to  become  resigned  to 
an  infirmity  that  had  cost  him  so  dear,  when  it  seemed  too 
late  to  be  worth  his  while  to  amend  it,  and  it  was  only 


A   CRITICAL  ACCIDENT  TO   MR.  ABSALOM    BILLINGSLEA.      3 

from  remarks  that  he  would  make  occasionally,  especially 
when  in  company  with  young  unmarried  men,  that  infer 
ence  could  be  drawn  of  his  regret  that  he  had  not  been 
swifter,  at  least  upon  two  important  occasions. 

"  Boys,"  he  would  say,  blandly,  yet  in  the  confident  tone 
often  employed  by  kind-hearted  old  bachelors  who  are  con 
scious  that  they  have  not  lived  to  that  period  without  rea 
sonable  ingathering  of  wisdom  from  experience,  "  you  may 
talk  about  your  co'tin'  and  your  bein'  of  co'ted,  but  I  tell 
you  now  that  ef  a  feller  count  on  makiu'  any  headway  at 
that  kind  o'  business,  he  got  to  be  active.  With  women 
it's  sharp's  the  word  and  quick's  the  motion  ;  and  they 
want  no  feller,  and  onless  they  know  they  can't  do  no  bet 
ter,  they  ain't  a-goin'  to  have  no  feller,  exceptin'  they  see 
he's  powerful  anxious  for  them,  and  them  only.  It's  so, 
and  it's  their  natur'  to  be  so.  And  I  don't  know  but  what 
in  the  long-run  they're  right,  a  not'ithstandin'  that  sech  as 
that,  in  sech  a  game  as  that,  leaves  sech  as  me  out.  But 
it's  more'n  prob'le  that  sech  slow-goin'  poke-easy  crceters 
as  what  I  am  had  ought  to  be  left  out  thar;  an'  ef  he  can't 
git  satisfied  with  the  sisciety  of  jest  his  lone  self,  to  git 
riconciled  to  it  the  best  he  can.  And  that,  maybe,  he  may 
do  after  a  while,  by  goin'  'long  tendin'  to  his  own  business, 
tellin'  no  lies  on  people,  ner  not  meddlin'  with  what  ain't 
his'n.  But  you  boys  well  b'ar  it  in  mind  and  'member 
what  I  say,  that  'ith  women — that  is,  in  the  p'ints  o'  co'tin' 
and  bein'  of  co'ted — it's  sharp's  the  word  and  quick's  the 
motion.  I'm  a-talkin'  now  from  expeunce.  Ef  I  had  my 
time  to  go  over  ag'in,  it  might  be  that  I  might  try  to  be 
peerter  in  some  o'  my  gaits.  But  now — " 

Then  he  would  wave  both  hands  slightly,  but  decisively, 
as  if  any  acceleration  on  his  own  part  was  not  to  be  ex 
pected  henceforth,  since  all  opportunities  for  its  employ- 


4      A   CRITICAL   ACCIDENT  TO   MR.  ABSALOM  BILLINGSLEA. 

ment  had  passed  forever ;  yet  he  would  calmly  smile  in  the 
satisfaction  of  imparting  to  the  young  among  his  male  ac 
quaintance,  through  these  kind  and  thoughtful  admonitions, 
benefit  of  a  wisdom  so  long  and  so  sadly  hoarded. 

Such  was  Mr.  Billingslea  at  forty-three  and  the  rise,  when 
one  of  his  near  neighbors,  contrary  to  all  human  expecta 
tion  and  probability,  after  a  rapid  decline  from  the  flower 
of  his  manhood,  deceased,  leaving,  among  others,  one  who, 
at  first  a  mourning,  was  likely  to  become,  after  decent  inter 
val,  a  blooming  widow. 

But  for  this  unlooked-for  event  it  is  hardly  probable  that 
any  biography  of  Mr.  Billingslea  would  have  been  under 
taken  ;  and  now  I  feel  that  I  cannot  do  full  justice  to  his 
subsequent  career  without  delaying  its  rehearsal  until  I  give 
one  (as  briefly  as  possible)  of  his  antecedent. 

II. 

About  three  miles  west  of  the  village  was  Mr.  Billings- 
lea's  home.  His  mansion,  a  one-story  with  attic,  stood  on 
an  eminence  near  the  public  road,  and  the  farm,  with  five 
hundred  acres  of  prime  upland,  lay  sloping  in  the  rear,  ex 
tending  to  the  Pitman  line.  On  the  south  side  of  the  road, 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  eastward,  dwelt  his  sister,  Mrs.  Cokely, 
to  whom  this  portion  had  fallen  in  the  division.  The  Coke- 
lys  lined  partly  with  the  Ashleys,  by  a  stream  that,  but  for 
its  being  energetic  as  it  was  small,  might  never  have  found 
its  way  among  the  numerous  rising  grounds  to  Beaver  Dam 
Creek.  Lining  with  the  Pitmans  and  north  of  Duke's  Creek 
were  the  Marlers. 

Between  the  brother  and  sister  (the  latter  three  years 
younger)  had  been  always  a  very  warm  affection.  It  was 
only  a  few  years  back  that  their  mother,  who  during  her 
twenty  years  of  widowhood  had  dwelt  with  the  son,  had  de- 


A  CRITICAL   ACCIDENT  TO  MR.  ABSALOM  BILLIXGSLEA.       5 

ceased.  Since  then  he  had  lived  alone,  excepting  with  his 
negroes,  the  sister  occasionally  going  over  to  set  to  rights 
whatever  things  had  been  allowed  by  the  bachelor  to  get 
awry. 

For  the  purposes  of  this  story  the  important  member  of 
the  Pitman  family  was  Julan,  the  eldest  daughter.  When 
she  was  fourteen  years  old  she  had  the  looks,  the  manners, 
the  gait — in  brief,  a  man  might  have  travelled  throughout 
all  that  region  in  search  of  her  superior  and  not  found  her. 
Absalom  Billingslea,  being  then  twenty-four,  six  feet  one, 
broad -chested,  healthy  as  the  morn,  and  good-looking  as 
any  man  of  such  parts  ought  to  ever  desire  to  be,  had  been 
in  love  with  Julan  ever  since  she  had  been  born,  and  many 
and  many  a  time  had  he  told  her  so.  In  his  last  year  of 
schooling,  which,  at  twenty-two,  he  had  undertaken  in  order 
to  make  up  for  some  deficiencies  that  he  feared  he  had  in 
curred  during  his  two  years'  course  while  a  boy,  he  used  to 
not  start  of  mornings  to  Mr.  Claxton,  who  kept  a  little  back 
of  the  Ashleys,  until  the  Pitman  children  came  on,  when  he 
carried  Julan's  books,  and  of  summer  evenings  her  very  bon 
net,  when  she  would  take  it  off  in  order  to  let  her  long, 
thick,  yellow  hair  get  all  it  could  of  the  hill-side  and  mead 
ow  air.  Then  he  always  walked  right  behind  her  on  the 
log  that  lay  across  the  branch,  except  when  it  had  swollen, 
if  only  a  few  inches,  when  either  he  would  go  before,  leading 
her  by  the  hand,  or,  lifting  her  in  his  arms,  bear  her  across. 

All  this  was  when  Julan  was  very  young  and  uncommon 
ly  small  for  her  age.  In  one  year,  from  thirteen  to  fourteen, 
if  anybody  ever  saw  a  girl  grow  and  develop  fast,  it  was  that 
same  Julan  Pitman.  Now  so  it  was  that  from  the  very  be 
ginning  of  this  nascent  period  Absalom  Billingslea's  avow 
als  of  his  love  became  more  and  more  infrequent,  and  soon 
ceased  altogether.  About  that  time  he  had  ceased  going  to 


6      A  CRITICAL  ACCIDENT  TO   MR.  ABSALOM  BILLINGSLEA; 

school,  while  Julan  went  a  year  longer.  Of  course  they  met 
not  so  often,  yet  they  must  be  much  together,  dwelling  so 
near,  and  belonging  to  families  so  friendly.  What  it  was 
that  had  shut  his  mouth  against  the  continuance  of  these 
avowals  he  never  could  understand.  But  the  slowness  nat 
ural  to  his  being  seemed,  whenever  he  was  in  her  presence, 
to  come  to  a  dead  stop.  Not  that  he  did  not  love  her  more 
and  more  every  day  of  his  life.  Not  that  he  felt  particular 
ly  embarrassed.  Perhaps  he  was  confused  by  this  sudden 
springing  from  diminutive  girlhood  into  womanhood  com 
plete.  Perhaps  he  was  ever  cogitating  how  to  piece  on  the 
old  gallantry  to  the  sober  proposal  to  marry  her,  but  some 
how  could  not  yet  make  them  buckle  and  tongue  together. 
He  pondered  and  pondered;  for  a  slow-minded  man  can 
do  that  as  much  as  a  quick,  especially  on  such  a  theme  as 
Julan  Pitman.  Indeed  in  such  a  case  he  does  it  more,  and 
while  he  is  thus  engaged  the  quick  may  have  left  off  that  busi 
ness  and  gone  to  acting.  Absalom  Billingslea  believed,  not 
withstanding  his  late  silence,  that  Julan  knew,  and  could  not 
possibly  keep  from  knowing,  that,  having  loved  her  all  dur 
ing  her  plain,  spindling  girlhood,  he  was  obliged  to  love  the 
very  ground  she  walked  on,  now  that  she  had  developed 
into  the  round,  plump,  delicious  thing  that  she  was.  He 
became  fond  to  ruminate,  especially  when  in  her  society, 
how  she  could  not  but  rather  like  the  adoration  with  which 
she  had  inspired  him,  and  in  time  he  began  to  make  up  his 
mind  that  he  would  study  up  a  set  of  phrases  that  might  go 
as  far  as  human  language  was  adequate  to  express  the  culmi 
nation  of  his  feelings  and  their  aspirations.  It  occurred  to 
his  mind  that  such  announcement  justly  required  words  of 
most  solemn  and  momentous  import,  and  he  sadly,  though 
not  very  painfully,  regretted  that  his  limited  education  re 
tarded  their  coming  to  his  lips. 


A   CRITICAL  ACCIDEXT  TO   MK.  ABSALOM   BILLIXGSLEA.       7 

"  Br'er  Al>,"  said  Mrs.  Cokely  one  day,  and  that  not  for 
the  first  time,  nor  the  second,  "if  you  want  Julan  Pitman, 
you  better  hurry  up.  She's  grown  now,  and  she  knows  it, 
and  everybody  else  knows  it,  and  'special  Bob  Marler  knows 
it,  and  if  you  don't  mind  what  you're  about  he's  going  to 
get  in  there  before  yon,  as  he's  been  trying  his  very  levellest 
best  for  six  months  to  do." 

"  Why,  S'  Nancy,  ain't  I  jest  a-vvaitin'  for  a  good,  suitable 
chance  ?  And  as  for  Bob  Marler,  don't  I  know  that  at  the 
school -house  Julan  couldn't  b'ar  Bob  Marler?  and  once, 
when  he  hurt  her  feelin's  and  made  her  cry  by  laughin'  and 
call  in'  her  a  little  scrap,  I  took  him  by  the  collar,  and  told 
him  if  he  done  it  ag'in  I'd  choke  him  tell  he  see  stars  in 
the  daytime." 

"  Ah  !  dear,  dear  brother,  that  was  a  long  time  ago,  when 
Julan  was  nothing  but  a  child." 

"  'Twasn't  so  very  fur  over  a  year  ago.  Julan  ain't  now 
but  in  her  fifteent'  year,  and  it  look  like  a  man  ought  to  try 
to  be  decent  in  the  namin'  to  as  young  a  person  as  she  is  sech 
a  thing  as  the  gittin'  of  married." 

"  Well,  brother,  if  the  worst  come,  you  can't  say  I  never 
warned  you." 

Such  admonitions  could  not  but  exert  in  time  some  influ 
ence  upon  a  mind  even  as  immobile  as  this.  The  amount 
of  cogitation  done  by  him  during  the  weeks  immediately 
preceding  definite  action  would  not  have  dishonored  the 
proudest  philosopher  who  ever  pondered  the  stars.  Con 
cluding  at  last  that  he  was  as  near  the  condition  of  readi 
ness  as  he  would  ever  be,  probably,  he  resolved  that  on  the 
ride  home  with  Julan  from  church  on  the  next  meeting  day 
he  would  make  the  eventful  announcement.  He  confessed 
afterwards,  with  some  apparent  remorse,  that  he  not  only 
could  not  tell  what  were  the  heads  of  the  sermon  on  that 


8      A  CRITICAL  ACCIDENT  TO  ME.  ABSALOM  B1LLINGSLEA. 

occasion,  but  that  he  had  actually  forgotten  the  text.  In 
this  state  of  mind,  what  must  have  been  his  feelings,  after 
the  service,  to  find  that  Julan  was  to  ride  home  with  the 
escort  of  Bob  Marler !  More  than  that,  many  persons  along 
the  road  said  that  it  was  talked  about  in  the  neighborhood 
that  Bob  and  Julan  were  engaged.  The  very  next  morning 
he  rode  to  the  Pitmans,  and  knowing  no  better  than  to  ask 
Julan  if  the  report  was  true,  and  she  knowing  no  better 
than  to  answer  that  it  was,  he  rose  immediately,  went  back 
home,  and  suffered  as  single-minded  men  always  suffer  when 
disappointed  in  attainment  of  the  one.  great  object  of  their 
life's  desire.  His  sister  did  not  scold ;  she  only  wept  when 
she  saw  the  pain  it  cost  him.  Some  people  said  that  Julan 
had  gone  into  the  engagement  in  a  pet  for  his  slowness, 
and  that  he  might  have  broken  it  if  he  had  tried.  But  he 
was  incapable  of  such  action,  and,  except  to  his  sister,  and 
that  seldom,  the  subject  was  never  alluded  to  by  him. 

Julan  and  Bob  were  married,  and  lived  together  ten  years, 
during  which  Absalom  was  such  a  neighbor  and  friend  as  if 
nothing  of  the  kind  I  have  mentioned  had  occurred.  Then 
Bob  died,  leaving  her  with  two  children.  The  wedded  life 
was  not  thought  to  have  been  as  blessed  as  the  average  ;  for 
the  husband,  though  energetic,  thrifty,  and  fond  of  the  wife, 
was  inclined  to  be  penurious  and  arbitrary.  Her  loyalty  to 
every  behest  of  her  condition  had  hindered  gross  maltreat 
ment  ;  but  when  he  went,  most  of  the  neighbors  thought, 
and  some  of  them  said,  that  Bob  Marler  had  had  quite  as 
much  as  he  deserved  of  the  society  of  such  a  woman. 

111. 

This  event  affected  Absalom  Billingslea  far  more  pro 
foundly  than  anybody  except  Mrs.  Cokely  suspected.  He 
had  ever  rather  believed  that  the  prize  he  so  singly  had  de- 


A  CRITICAL  ACCIDENT  TO    Mil.  ABSALOM   BILLIXGSLEA.        9 

sired  had  been  lost  through  his  own  inactivity.  Bat  he  was 
the  soul  of  honor  and  justice.  Though  never  expressing 
himself  so  to  any  except  his  sister,  he  had  often  felt  indig 
nant  at  what  appeared  on  the  part  of  her  husband  a  lack  of 
appreciation  for  Mrs.  Marler  and  consideration  for  her  hap 
piness.  Yet,  now  that  he  was  dead,  compassion  for  his 
early  death  struggled  with  the  thought  that  Julan  was  again 
free.  There  are  such  men  in  the  world,  and  they  are  to  be 
found  in  such  a  country  society  as  I  am  telling  about  as 
often  as  in  any  other,  however  more  advanced  in  culture 
and  refinement.  This  man,  so  slow  in  motion,  so  apparently 
imperturbable  in  mind,  would  have  preferred  to  die  rather 
than  do  dishonor  not  only  to  Bob  Marler  when  alive,  but  to 
his  memory  now  that  he  was  dead.  When  he  looked  upon 
that  young  widow  he  was  almost  frightened  to  find  that 
none  of  the  love  of  his  youth  had  gone,  as  he  had  tried  to 
persuade  himself  all  during  her  married  life.  Julan  mourned 
with  that  strange  loyalty  that  good  women  always  pay  to 
the  memories  of  their  departed  husbands,  however  remiss 
these  may  have  been  in  appreciation  and  tenderness,  and 
this  old  lover  admired  her  only  the  more  for  such  conduct. 
At  least  he  hoped  that  he  did,  though  far  more  fondly  did 
he  hope  that  the  time  would  come  when  he  would  be  en 
abled  to  assuage  her  grief  in  a  manner  that  would  be  the 
consummation  of  the  highest  happiness  of  which  his  own 
heart  had  eve*  dreamed. 

Mrs.  Cokely  understood  his  case  even  better  than  he  did, 
and  after  the  first  year  of  widowhood  had  expired  she  began 
to  urge  him  towards  what  she  was  confident  he  wished  and 
intended,  if  vaguely,  to  do  whenever  he  could  feel  that  he 
could  do  so  with  propriety. 

"  May  the  good  Lord  have  mercy  on  your  dear,  precious 
old  soul,  Br'er  Ab !"  she  said  to  him  one  day,  after  some 


10     A  CRITICAL  ACCIDENT  TO  MR,  ABSALOM  B1LLINGSLEA. 

preliminary  chat,  "  do  you  suppose  a  woman  like  Julan, 
that's  now  nothing  but  a  girl,  is  going  to  grieve  herself  to 
death  or  forever  about  such  a  husband  as  Bob  Marler  ?" 

The  question  staggered  him. 

"  I — n-no,  S'  Nancy  ;  I — that  is,  I  should  hardly  expect — 
at  leastways  I  shouldn't  hope  that  Julan  would  grieve — that 
is,  not  quite  forever — for — for  scch  as  Bob  :  though  Bob, 
poor  feller,  he's  dead  and  goned  now,  you  know,  S'  Nancy, 
and  somehow  I  can't  but  think  that  maybe  Bob  were  a 
cleverer  feller  than  we  ben  a-takin'  him  to  be  when  he  were 
among  us.  And  as  for  Julan,  she — you  see  she  war  her 
black  the  same  as  the  week  after  he  went,  and  I  hain't  a 
idee  Julan  ever  yit  thought  o'  sech  a  thing  as — as — " 

Mr.  Billingslea  paused  here,  and  actually  was  near  blush 
ing  for  the  sable,  sorrowing  young  widow. 

"  Yes,  and  right  there  is  where  you  are  mistakened.  Br'cr 
Ab,  a  man  like  you  don't  understand  women  any  more  than 
they  understand  babies.  As  for  Bob  Marler,  he  was  just 
the  man  he  were,  and  his  being  dead  can't  alter  at  leastways 
what  lie  used  to  be.  They  isn't  any  doubt  but  what  he 
loved  Julan,  as  no  man  that  had  such  as  her  for  a  wife 
could  have  holp  doing  that.  But  he  never  treated  her  as  a 
man  ought  to  treat  such  a  wife,  and  you  know  it.  Yet 
Julan  have  done  what  all  respectable  widows  will  always  do, 
and  'special  them  that  have  children  by  a  man  :  she's  be 
haved  herself  decent,  and  knowing  that  them  children  is  his 
children  as  well  as  hern,  and  is  now  orphins,  she's  been  sorry 
for  them,  and  is  sorry  for  'em.  But  Julan  have  too  much 
sense,and  if  she  didn't,  she's  too  young,  to  be  and  keep  ever 
lastingly  grieving  about  Bob  Marler,  and  I  know  what  I'm 
talking  about." 

It  may  not  happen  that  very  much  delicacy  finds  place  in 
beings  as  little  cultured  and  as  inactive  as  that  of  Absalom 


A  CRITICAL  ACCIDENT  TO   MR.  ABSALOM   BILLINGSLEA.     1  1 

Billingslea;  but  wlien  it  does,  it  is  of  the  very  best  type. 
To  make  an  advance  towards  that  woman  in  black,  who  sel 
dom  was  seen  to  smile,  it  appeared  to  him,  would  be  an  in 
delicacy  that  would  not  be  forgiven,  and  ought  not ;  and 
little  as  he  had  thought  of  her  husband  while  living,  he  yet 
could  not  but  feel  that  he  owed  something,  however  indefi 
nite,  to  the  memory  of  one  whom,  upon  reflection,  he  may 
have  undervalued.  And  so  he  continued  to  wait.  Oh  yes, 
lie  must  wait  some  longer. 

The  death  of  Mr.  Marler,  after  an  interval  of  four  or  five 
months,  was  followed  by  that  of  Mrs.  John  Ashley,  at  the 
place  aforementioned.  The  affliction  of  the  bereaved  hus 
band,  who  was  left  with  one  male  child  three  years  old,  was 
profound  and  sincere.  But  of  course  everybody  knows  that 
such  as  that  does  not  last  always.  Absalom  Billingslea  was 
very  fond  of  Jack,  though  he  never  seemed  to  care  for  hav 
ing  much  to  do  with  Wiley,  his  next  younger  brother.  In 
his  heart  he  pitied  Jack,  tried  to  console  him  by  all  means 
that  he  could  employ,  was  gratified  after  some  months  to 
see  him  take  'rather  more  cheerful  views  of  life,  and,  as  his 
friend,  felt  almost  hurt  by  neighborhood  whisperings  that 
Jack  was  alreadv  beo-innino"  to  turn  his  thoughts  towards 

•/  O  CD  C3 

marrying  again.  He  even  had  the  friendly  candor  to  tell 
Jack  of  these  whisperings  one  day,  and  he  was  proud  of 
Jack  for  the  indignant  mariner  in  which  he  denied  that 
there  was  any  just  foundation  for  them. 

"  You  do  beat  this  world,  Br'er  Ab."  Mrs.  Cokely  was 
a  little  vexed,  and  she  acknowledged  it.  "Br'er  Ab,  you 
don't  understand  Jack  Ashley  any  inore'n  you  understand 
Julan  Marler." 

"  Why,  S'  Nancy,  the  poor  feller's  wife  have  no  more'n 
hardly  got  cold  in  her  grave;  and  Jack  told  me  with  his 
own  mouth  that  he  were  mad  as  he  could  be  about  people 


]  2     A  CRITICAL  ACCIDENT  TO  MR.  ABSALOM  B1LLINGSLEA. 

havin'  no  more  feelin'  than  to   be  talkin'  about   his    even 
thinkin'  about  gettin'  married  ng'in." 

"Goodness  gracious  me  j  Don't  you  know  that  that's 
just  the  ways  of  them  widowers  when  they  are  on  the  sly, 
as  that  same  man  Jack  Ashley  is  now  about  Julan  ?" 

"If  he's  arfter -Julan — and  which  I  can't  believe  it's  so — 
he  well  fling  away  his  weepons  in  that  hunt,  for  Julan  have 
too  much  respects  not  only  of  herself,  but  she  have  too 
much  respects  of  her  husband  and  Jack  Ashley's  wife,  to 
even  listen  to  sech  talk.  Why,  didn't  Missis  Keennra  tell 
me  that  when  she  hinted  to  Julan  that  Jack,  to  her  opinions, 
were  thinkin'  o'  her  in  a  cur'ous  sort  o'  way,  that  Julan 
cried,  she  did." 

"And  what  do  that  show?" 

"  It  show,  in  the  first  place,  that  Julan  didn't  believe  it ; 
and  it  show,  in  the  next  place,  that  she  were  hurted  in  her 
feelin's  by  hcarin'  o'  her  name  a-bein'  coupled  with  that 
kind  o'  business  yit  awhile.  People,  S'  Nancy,  is  obleeged 
to  supposen  that  people  is  decent  and  has  feelin's,  and  they 
ought  to  try  to  have  'em  theirselves." 

"  Ah  !  Br'er  Ab,  you  let  yourself  get  left  before,  and  I'm 
much  afraid  it's  going  to  be  so  again." 

Mr.  Billingslea,  after  his  own  style,  waited  and  watched 
the  conduct  of  these  two  bereaved.  It  is  needless  to  tell 
the  result  of  such  behavior.  If  ever  a  man  of  his  kind  was 
overwhelmed  with  confusion  and  dismay,  it  was  he,  when, 
without  public  notice,  Jack  one  morning  rode  over  to  Mrs. 
Marler's  in  his  gig,  was  married  to  her,  and  took  her  and 
her  children  to  his  home. 

"  It  were  ruther  the  onexpectedest  thing,  I  think,  I  ever 
knowed,"  said  Mr.  Billingslea  to  his  sister  when  they  heard 
the  news.  "  I  shouldn't  of  thought  it  of  nother  of  'ern — 
that  is,  not  yit,  not  quite  yit."  Then  he  took  out  his 


A  CRITICAL  ACCIDENT  TO  ME.  ABSALOM  BILLINGSLEA.      13 

pocket-handkerchief,  for  the  sight  of  tears  in  her  eyes  had 
moistened  his  own.  "But,"  he  continued,  "Jack  suit  her, 
I  suppose,  and  Jack's  a  good-lookin',  good-hearted,  and  a 
monstrous  liber'l  feller.  I  hardly  think  he  wanted  to  fool 
me  out  and  out  about  his  denyin'  so  positive.  I  suppose 
he  found  out  somehow  that  maybe  he  better  git  Julan  if 
he  could,  and  the  good  Lord  know  /  can't  blame  him  for 
that.  Yes,  Jack's  a  monstrous  liber'l- hearted  feller.  I 
ain't  quite  shore  but  what  he's  a  cleverer  feller — that  is,  in 
some  p'ints  of  views — than  what  poor  Bob  were.  I  hope 
he'll  be  good  to  Bob's  childern,  and  take  good  keer  o'  Julan 
and  her  prop'ty." 

"  Julan  had  no  business  of  marryin'  Jack  Ashley,"  began 
Mrs.  Cokely,  after  drying  her  eyes  with  some  violence. 

"  Come,  come,  S'  Nancy.  I  can't  b'ar  to  hear  you  say 
anything  ag'inst  Julan.  It  were  her  business,  and  you've 
never  been  a  woman  as  follered  the  practice  o'  findin'  fau't 
with  other  .people  for  tendin'  to  their  own  business  the 
best  they  know  how.  Julan  were  a  young  widder,  and  I 
no  doubt  she  were  lonesome  with  jest  them  two  little  chil 
dern,  and  she  see  that  Jack  were  obleeged  to  be  lonesome 
with  jest  his  one,  and  she  knowed  that  all  three  need  two 
parrents  instid  o'  one,  and  Jack  he  knowed  the  same.  And 
then,  ag'in,  they  knowed,  both  of  'em,  that  it  warn't  no 
body's  business  but  theirn.  And  so  they  took  the  notion 
to  jind  and  nunite  together  without  astin  anybody  else's 
leave,  and  they  done  it,  and  as  for  me,  I  hope  it'll  turn  out 
right  for  'em  both  and  for  'em  all.  And  not  a  nary  word 
ag'inst  it  and  ag'inst  them  would  I  ever  want  to  hear,  and 
'special  from  my  own  people." 

She  looked  at  him  in  silence  for  several  moments  as  he 
walked  slowly  up  and  down  in  the  room.  Then  rising,  she 
went  and  laid  one  hand  upon  his  shoulder. 


14     A  CRITICAL  ACCIDENT  TO  ME.  ABSALOM  BILLINGSLEA. 

"  Br'er  Ab,  you  want  to  know  what  I  think  of  you  ?  It's 
that  slow  as  you  are,  and  careless  as  you  are  about  your 
own  interests,  you  are  the  best  man  that  lives,  or  ever  did 
live,  in  this  world." 

She  put  her  arras  around  him  and  laid  her  head  upon 
his  breast.  He  bent  down,  kissed  her  cheek,  and  then  dis 
engaging  himself  from  her,  left  the  house^  and  walked  slow 
ly  back  to  his  home. 

IV. 

"Jack,  I  thought  you  said  that  Absalom  Billingslea  and 
Mrs.  Keenum  were  likely  to  marry.  She  was  over  here  to 
day,  and  she  said  that  Absalom  never  hinted  such  a  thing 
to  her,  and  she  had  no  reason  to  believe  that  he  ever  would." 

"  Wiley  said  he  heard  so.  You  know  Wiley  always 
picks  up  the  latest  news.  As  for  Ab  Billingslea,  he's  too 
slow  -  motioned  ever  to  make  up  his  mind  to  court  any 
woman." 

This  chat  was  had  some  time  after  the  marriage.  But  I 
shall  devote  brief  space  to  the  telling  about  that.  The 
years  came  and  went.  The  principal  outward  alteration  in 
Mr.  Billingslea  was  some  dereliction  in  attention  to  dress. 
Doomed,  as  now  for  the  second  time  he  felt  himself  to  be, 
to  endless  bachelorhood,  there  was  what  commonly  follows 
such  a  consciousness — less  care  to  please  by  attention  to 
exterior  deportment.  An  acknowledged  old  bachelor  is 
bound  to  become  seedy  in  some  elements  of  his  being.  He 
prospered  in  business,  however,  unhasting  as  he  was  in  its 
pursuit.  Pie  was  one  of  those  planters,  in  the  long-run 
most  successful,  who  made  their  most  important  point  to 
raise  a  plenty  to  eat  for  man  and  beast.  Such  a  planter 
usually  has  cash  in  his  pocket,  and  can  avail  himself  of  op 
portunities  which  such  a  condition  presents  of  adding  to 


A  CRITICAL  ACCIDENT  TO   MR.  ABSALOM   BILLINGSLEA.    15 

his  capital  by  advantageous  purchases.  Jack  Ashley  used 
to  laugh  at  him  (for  Jack  and  he  continued  on  as  friendly 
terms  as  ever)  for  his  making  only  three  bales  of  cotton  to 
the  hand.  Yet  Jack,  with  all  his  seven,  was  a  money-bor 
rower,  whereas  Absalom  became  a  lender  of  more  and  more 
every  year,  and  sometimes,  in  his  mild  way,  he  would  give 
Jack  a  friendly  warning  against  what  seemed  to  him  too 
adventurous  in  some  of  his  tradings  and  too  expensive  in 
his  way  of  living.  Jack  would  always  answer  as  to  the 
latter  that  while  he  lived  he  intended  to  live.  And  so  he 
did.  In  ten  years  his  estate  was  less  valuable  than  when 
he  and  Mrs.  Marler  were  married.  With  the  loss  of  prop 
erty  came  the  loss  of  energy,  spirits,  and  health.  He  fretted 
throughout  his  last  remaining  year,  leaving,  besides  his  wife 
and  his  child  by  the  first  marriage,  one  by  the  last.  The 
property  of  the  Marler  children,  except  in  the  wear  of  the 
land,  was  unhurt,  but  his  widow's,  including  what  she  took 
by  his  will,  was  not  equal  to  what  she  had  brought  upon 
her  marriage.  The  neighbors  tried  to  believe  that  but  for 
Jack's  decay  in  manliness  by  his  misfortunes  and  bad  health 
he  would  not  have  made  the  bequest  to  his  wife  contingent 
upon  her  remaining  unmarried. 

V. 

Now  when  Julan  most  unexpectedly  had  become  free  for 
the  third  time,  Mr.  Billingslea  felt — indeed,  he  could  not  have 
told  himself  how  he  did  feel.  He  hoped  that  he  was  sorry 
for  Jack  being  cut  down  in  the  midst  of  his  manhood,  and 
nobody  except  Mrs.  Cokcly  had  ever  heard  him  say  a  word 
against  the  will.  Even  to  her  he  essayed  by  one  argument 
and  another,  of  course  without  success,  to  mitigate  her  re 
sentment.  If  he  tried  to  suppress  other  thoughts  that  rose 
in  his  mind,  even  at  the  funeral,  it  was  but  for  a  brief  period. 


16     A  CRITICAL  ACCIDENT  TO  MR.  ABSALOM  BILLINGSLEA. 

Julan,  now  at  thirty-five,  was  handsomer  and  sweeter-looking 
than  ever.  There  is  in  young  widowhood  something  that 
engages  more  than  maidenhood,  especially  such  a  man  as 
Absalom  Billingslea,  whose  heart,  undemonstrative  as  it  was, 
sympathized  with  suffering  of  every  sort.  Mrs.  Ashley  had 
never  in  words  complained  of  the  will,  and  she  let  Wiley, 
the  executor,  manage  everything  as  he  pleased.  Even  a  few 
things  which  she  had  believed  to  belong  separately  to  her 
and  her  Marler  children  she  let  him,  on  his  insisting  to  do 
so,  include  in  the  inventory. 

Modest  as  Mr.  Billingslea  was,  he  could  not  but  believe 
that  if  he  had  been  more  demonstrative  of  his  feelino-s  on 

£3 

the  two  previous  opportunities,  results  might  have  been  dif 
ferent;  and  now  that  another  had  occurred,  he  made  up  his 
mind  fully  that  he  would  not  have  cause  for  blaming  him 
self  a  third  time.  Yet  it  was  not  as  a  lover  of  their  mother, 
but  as  a  man  accustomed  to  have  just  views  about  such 
things,  that  he  spoke  (not  to  Mrs.  Ashley,  but  to  others) 
with  some  freedom  about  the  rights  of  the  Marler  children, 
inconsiderable  as  infringements  upon  them  had  been.  Wi 
ley,  a  bachelor  himself  of  thirty -two,  a  man  of  powerful 
build,  heard  of  these  remarks,  but  for  one  reason  and  an 
other  did  not  take  notice-  of  them.  As  always  heretofore, 
Mr.  Billingslea  visited  at  the  house,  and  extended  to  the 
widow  offers  of  assistance  such  as  she  well  knew  it  was  his 
habit  to  do  in  similar  cases  in  the  circle  of  his  acquaintance. 
In  all  this  there  was  nothing  uncommon. 

But  what  about  other  things?  Mr.  Billingslea,  having 
seen  his  very  fondest  aspirations  frustrated  on  two  momen 
tous  occasions  (first  by  a  man  in  his  rear,  and  secondly  by 
one  in  his  very  front),  now  forty-three  at  his  last  birthday, 
destined,  if  he  should  have  good-luck,  to  be  forty-four  on 
his  next — Mr.  Billingslea  made  up  his  mind  to  stir  as  he 


A  CRITICAL  ACCIDENT  TO  MR.  ABSALOM  I3ILLINGSLEA.     17 

never  had  stirred  himself  before,  put  himself  in  preparation 
for  all  possible  attacks  in  rear,  front,  and  flank,  and  even 
make  such  sallies  of  aggression  as  should  seem  to  him  to  be 
timely  and  practicable.  He  had  his  house  newly  painted; 
and  goodness  knows  it  needed  it.  He  had  his  hair  trimmed, 
not  by  Mrs.  Cokely,  but  a  regular  cutter  in  town  ;  and  if  he 
didn't  buy  a  bottle  of  bear's-grcase,  I'm  a  liar !  He  got  a 
new  fur  hat,  and  a  new  suit  of  broadcloth  out  and  out — 
things  he  had  not  done  in  I  would  not  like  to  say  how  long. 
He  straightened  out  of  his  back  the  wrinkles  that  had  been 
gathering  while  he  was  indifferent  whether  they  came  there 
or  stayed  away.  He  got  a  quickness,  not  to  say  elasticity,  of 
step  that  he  had  never  had,  I  may  go  to  the  extent  of  say 
ing,  since  he  had  been  named  Absalom  Billingslea.  He 
took  on  a  jocoseness  of  speech  that  brought  to  all,  men  and 
women,  old  and  young,  laughter  that  he  had  never  dreamed 
was  in  him  to  provoke.  And  he  did  other  things  too  te 
dious  to  mention.  Ah  me !  such  widows  as  Julan  Ashley 
have  made  older  and  soberer  men  than  he  kick  up  their 
heels,  or  trv  it,  in  the  hope  of  winning  them,  taking  them 
back  to  youth,  and  living  it  over  again. 

There  was  not  a  soul  that  blamed  Mr.  Billingslea  for  any 
item  of  all  this  juvenility.  Instead,  everybody  was  glad  to 
see  it.  Did  I  say  everybody  ?  Alas !  I  forgot  that  there 
was  one  exception.  It  was  Mrs.  Ashley.  For  you  must 
know  that  all  this  not  only  had  begun,  but  had  been  fin 
ished  off,  by  the  time  that  Jack  Ashley  had  been  in  his 
grave  some  eight  or  nine  months.  Not  that  Mrs.  Ashley 
had  been  painfully  affected  by  the  painting  of  the  house, 
or  the  reports  she  had  heard  of  Mr.  Billingslea's  dressi 
ness,  his  activity,  and  his  cheerfulness.  For  she  was  too 
sensible  a  woman  not  to  know  that  being  worried  in  her 
mind  by  such  things  would  have  been  nothing  short  of 


ISA  CRITICAL  ACCIDENT  TO  MR.  ABSALOM  BILL1NGSLEA. 

foolishness.  But  what  did  hurt  Mrs.  Ashley  I  will  relate 
as  plainly  as  I  can. 

One  morning  little  Ab  Cokely,  having  gone  on  a  visit  to 
his  uncle,  met  him  at  the  gate,  fully  greased,  and  almost  fully 
dressed,  and  that  in  his  new  broadcloth. 

"  Ain't  you  goin'  to  put  on  your  kervat,  Unk  Ab  ?"  asked 
the  child. 

Mr.  Billingslea  felt  at  his  throat,  went  back  into  his  house, 
folded,  twisted,  and  tied  the  best  he  knew  how  a  silk  cravat, 
put  his  hand  in  his  pocket,  jerked  out  a  quarter,  gave  it  to 
little  Ab,  mounted  his  horse,  put  him  into  a  canter,  and  away 
he  went.  Now  the  appearance  in  such  guise  at  a  private 
house,  and  that  on  a  week-day,  was  a  thing  that  the  oldest 
inhabitant  had  never  known  of  having  been  done  except  by 
a  marrying  man  specifically  and  avowedly  intent  upon  im 
mediate,  pressing  courtship.  Added  to  all  I  have  mentioned 
was  this,  that  his  face  was  very  red  and  his  voice  was  husky, 
even  while  he  talked  with  the  children  before  Mrs.  Ashley 
came  into  the  house — for  at  Ins  arrival  she  was  in  the  gar 
den  pointing  out  to  the  cook  the  vegetables  to  be  gathered 
for  dinner.  Coming  in  as  she  was,  apron  and  all,  she  halted 
suddenly  at  the  door,  both  at  the  sounds  and  the  sight,  as 
if  uncertain  as  to  whether  or  not  she  had  misunderstood  the 
messenger  who  had  called  her  in  with  the  announcement  of 
Mr.  Billingslea's  visit.  Then  a  sudden  paleness  overspread 
her  face,  and  without  advancing  as  usual  to  shake  his  hand, 
she  sat  down  in  the  nearest  chair  and  said,  feebly,  "Good- 
morning,  Mr.  Billingslea." 

The  oldest  Marler  child,  a  girl  of  fifteen,  rose  as  if  intend 
ing  to  leave  the  room. 

"  Sit  down,  Emily,  and  keep  your  seat,"  said  the  mother, 
in  despotic  tone. 

Absalom  Billingslea,  with  the  instinct  of  one  who  is  a 


A  CRITICAL  ACCIDENT  TO  MR.  ABSALOM   BILLINGSLEA.     19 

gentleman,  however  simply  bred  and  little  cultured,  instant 
ly  perceived  that  he  had  made  a  mistake,  and,  as  he  after 
wards  declared  to  his  sister,  "  if  ever  there  was  a  time  en 
during  every  single  one  of  his  born  days  when  he  wished 
he  had  been  at  home  and  clad  in  his  oldest  old  clothes,  that 
morning  was  the  time."  Not  a  word  was  spoken  for  a  full 
two  minutes,  at  the  end  of  which  Mrs.  Ashley,  looking  as 
if  she  felt  no  sort  of  interest  in  her  question,  curtly  asked, 
"  How's  Nancy  ?" 

Mr.  Billingslea,  who  had  been  looking  alternately  at  her 
plain  dress  and  his  own  glistening  suit,  suddenly  threw  up 
his  head,  and  with  painful  honesty  tried  to  recall  to  his 
mind  the  person  about  whom  it  was  probable  that  inquiry 
had  been  made. 

"  Who  did  you—  Oh,  you  mean  S'  Nancy.  Oh,  she- 
she's  well.  That  is,  I— I  think  so.  At  leastways  little  Ab 
he  were  at  my  house — it  were  this  mornin',  if  my  'mem- 
bance  don't  fail— and— well,  to  the  best  o'  my  ricollection, 
little  Ab  he  never  told  me  that  anything  were  particklar 
out  o'  the  way  with  his  ma.  I  think — that  is,  my  opinions 
is  that  S'  Nancy  is  about  as  well  as  common." 

If  Mr.  Billingslea  had  been  on  the  witness-stand  I  do  not 
believe  that  he  would  have  spoken  with  a  more  sincere, 
solemn  purpose  of  rendering  an  answer  in  accordance  with 
the  best  of  his  knowledge,  information,  hearsay,  and  belief. 
He  sat  for  some  time  apparently  waiting  for  further  in 
terrogations.  None  being  propounded,  he  made  another 
brief  comparison  of  the  apparels  so  widely  differing  from 
each  other.  Then,  contracting  his  brows,  and  swallow 
ing  an  imaginary  substance  of  vast  magnitude,  he  said,  in 
tones  that  trembled  in  their  efforts  to  show  that  he  was 
not  entirely  hopeless  of  prevailing  in  his  suit,  "  I — I  come 
over — I  werft  on  mv  way  to  town,  and  I  come  over  to 


20     A  CRITICAL  ACCIDENT  TO  MK.  ABSALOM  BILLINGSLEA. 


"  I    COME    OVER   TO    SEE    IF    I    COULD    BORRY  YOUR    K'YART   AND    STEERS." 

— to  see  if  I — in  fact,  if  I  could  borry  your  k'yart  and 
steers." 

He  shuddered  throughout  his  whole  frame.  The  young 
est  of  the  children  had  to  hold  her  nose,  and  the  other  two 
to  cover  their  mouths  with  their  handkerchiefs,  to  conceal 
their  emotion.  Mrs.  Ashley,  smiling  faintly,  said  of  course 
he  could  be  accommodated  in  the  way  he  desired.  Where- 


A  CRITICAL  ACCIDENT  TO    MR.  ABSALOM   BILLINGSLEA.    21 

upon  lie  expressed  the  liveliest  gratitude,  rose,  and,  as  well 
as  he  could,  took  himself  away. 

VI. 

"  Oh,  S'  Nancy,  it  were  the  awfullest,  all-firedest  lie  that 
ary  nigger,  let  'lone  ary  white  man,  ever  let  out  o'  his 
mouth  ;  and  Julan  knowed  it,  and  so  did  the  childern  know 
it,  and  ef  they'd  of  ben  a  baby  thar  a  week  old,  it  would  of 
ben  obleeged  to  know  it  were  a  lie  o'  the  whoppinest  kind. 
For  they  all  knowed  I  got  two  k'yarts  and  three  yoke  o' 
steers,  and  they  knowed  I  see  thar  one  little  yoke  o'  year- 
lin's  right  thar  before  the  door,  with  thar  rickety  old  k'yart, 
one  spoke  goned  and  one  hub  all  split  open,  a-busy  a-haul- 
in'  rails  for  a  calf-parscher.  But  I  had  to  say  something  or 
fall  dead  out  o'  my  cheer,  and  that  was  the  onlest  thing  I 
could  think  of.  As  soon  as  I  could  git  up,  I  varnished 
myself  off.  I  took  them  store  clothes  home,  and  locked 
'em  up  in  the  chiss,  whar  they  are  goin'  to  lay  while  my 
head's  hot;  an'  I  do  think,  on  my  soul,  it  took  me  a  hour, 
with  hot  water  and  soap,  to  git  that  cussed  b'ar-grease  out 
o'  my  h'ar.  I  no  business  &-goin'  thar  on  sech  a  arrant,  be 
cause  I  felt  like  all  the  way  thar  that  it  were  goin'  to  turn 
out  jest  as  it  did." 

The  sister,  notwithstanding  her  sympathy,  could  not  but 
laugh  somewhat  at  the  account  he  gave  of  his  discomfit 
ure. 

"Br'er  Ab,"  she  said  at  length,  "you  set  at  Julan  in  the 
wrong  way.  You  ought  not  have  went  there  all  dressed 
up  and  perfumed  up  on  a  weeky-day  without  first  letting 
her  get  a  hint  that  you  was  a-corning,  and  what  for.  Little 
Ab  told  me  you  had  on  your  broadcloth,  and  I  thought 
maybe  you  were  going  to  the  court-house.  If  I'd  had  any 
notion  of  what  you  were  about,  I'd  have  gone  over  and 


22     A  CRITICAL  ACCIDENT  TO  MR.  ABSALOM  BILLINGSLEA. 

told  you  that  wasn't  the  way  to  make  a  set  at  Julan.  Why, 
it  was  enough  to  scare  her." 

"  That's  jest  what  it  done.  But  her  steer  didn't  hold  a 
light  to  mine.  She  have  that  satisfaction,  if  she  want  any. 
If  I'm  any  steerder  when  I  come  to  die  than  I  were  thar 
and  then,  them  that's  about  me  '11  see  a  skene  cert'n.  But, 
Sister  Nancy,"  he  continued,  in  a  tone  of  impatience  that 
he  had  never  employed  with  her  and  seldom  even  with  his 
slaves,  "  what  were  I  to  do  ?  You  and  other  people  told  me 
I  were  too  slow  both  times  before.  And  now  it  seem  I 
were  too  rapid.  The  fact  is,  it  don't  lay  in  me  to  know 
when  nor  how  to  co't  a  female  person,  and  it  ain't  my  lot. 
And  my  opinions  o'  Julan  is  that  she  think  she  had  her 
shere  o'  marryin'.  At  all  ewents,  and  in  all  ewents,  she  don't 
take  to  me,  and  it  would  of  surprised  me  if  she  did.  I've 
always  ben  out,  and  I'm  out  agin,  and  I'm  goin'  to  try  good 
this  time  to  git  riconciled  to  stay  out." 

"My  dear  brother,"  said  Mrs.  Cokely,  deeply  compassion 
ating  the  pain  it  was  evident  that  he  suffered,  "  don't  give 
up  that  way.  If  Julan  ever  thinks  about  getting  married 
again,  I  can't  believe  she'd  throw  away  a  chance  that's 
•worth  both  of  her  husbands  put  together.  You  wait  a 
while.  Julan  is  pestered  in  her  mind  by  Wiley  Ashley, 
who's  as  mean  and  selfish  and  stingy  as  can  be,  and  she 
ain't  in  the  condition  to  be  courted  now,  at  least  in  a — in 
such  a  —  a  expressing  and  vi'lcnt  way,  so  to  speak.  Of 
course  /  can't  say  if  she  ever  will  be.  But  a  man  just  as 
well  wait  and  see." 

"  Oh,  as  for  waitin',  everybody  have  to  wait  for  what's 
a-comin',  includin'  the  time  when  they  got  to  leave  this 
country  for  good.  But  I  tell  you,  S'  Nancy,  as  for  Julan, 
I'm  out,  like  I  always  ben  out,  an'  I  shall  never  pester  her 
any  more.  That  ain't  my  lot." 


A  CRITICAL  ACCIDENT  TO   MR.  ABSALOM   BILLINGSLEA.    23 

Some  time  after  this  interview  Mrs.  Cokely  made  a  visit 
to  Mrs.  Ashley,  and  from  the  manner  in  which  her  hints 
concerning  her  brother's  feelings  were  received  she  was 
convinced  that  his  conclusion  to  retire  from  the  pursuit  was 
prudent.  She  believed  that  she  ought  to  so  inform  him. 
At  the  same  time  she  felt  it  her  duty  to  give  him  other  in 
formation,  which  was  to  lead  to  painful  consequences.  The 
ladies  had  always  been  warm  friends.  Mrs.  Ashley  had 
shed  many  tears  in  speaking  of  the  hard  terms  that  had 
been  imposed  by  AViley  Ashley,  and  her  face  had  flushed 
with  resentment  while  telling  how,  upon  her  rejection  of 
Wiley's  suit,  he  had  taunted  her  with  setting  her  cap  with 
the  hope  of  catching  old  Ab  Billingslea,  and  that  if  he 
ever  should  court  her  at  all,  it  would  not  be  until  he  had 
given  up  all  hope  of  getting  the  widow  Lightfoot,  whom 
every  one  knew  he  wanted.  Mrs.  Ashley,  after  giving  this 
confidence,  had  requested  Mrs.  Cokely  not  to  mention  it; 
but  the  latter  had  not  given  her  promise  thereto,  and  so, 
after  much  rumination  and  consultation  with  her  husband, 
who  had  advised  against  it,  she  concluded  to  obey  her  own 
impulse  and  tell  the  whole  conversation,  including  a  gross 
insult  by  Wiley  in  his  intimation  that,  even  during  the  life 
time  of  his  brother,  she  had  thought  more  of  old  Ab  Bil 
lingslea  than  she  had  any  right  to.  When  Mrs.  Cokely 
saw  the  effect  this  information  produced  upon  her  brother, 
she  wished  that  she  had  withheld  it. 

After  she  had  given  it,  he  rose  and  said,  "  Wile  Ashley 
used  them  words,  did  he,  to  his  own  brother's  widder? 
A  d —  But  in  a  woman's  presence,  although  his  own  sis 
ter,  he  repressed  the  imprecation  that  had  risen  to  his  lips, 
and  walked  the  floor  with  a  vigor  of  step  that  she  had 
never  seen  him  use. 

"Now,  Br'er  Ab,  you've  got  to  promise  me — " 


24     A  CRITICAL  ACCIDENT  TO  MB.  ABSALOM  BILLINGSLEA. 

Ho  stooped,  and  laying  his  hand  softly  trembling  upon 
her  shoulder,  said,  "  I  promise  you,  S'  Nancy,  that  I  shall 
do  nothin'  but  what  a  man  that's  any  account  can't  keep 
from  doin'  in  sech  a  case." 

For  a  while  he  did  not  seem  to  hear  her  as  she  went  on 
talking  in  affectionately  warning  language,  but  continued 
to  pace  the  floor.  After  some  minutes  he  became  calm, 
sat  down,  and,  changing  the  subject,  chatted  in  his  usual 
manner  during  the  rest  of  her  visit.  When  she  was  gone, 
he  got  his  writing  materials,  wrote  a  note,  read  it  over  sev 
eral  times,  tore  it  up,  and  began  on  anotlier.  Then  reflect 
ing  that  on  the  morrow  an  election  was  to  be  held  at  the 
store  for  one  of  that  militia  district's  officers,  he  rose,  called 
a  negro  man,  and  said  to  him, 

"Josh,  you  go  over  to  Mr.  Wiley  Ashley's,  and  tell  him 
I  wish  he'd  try  and  make  it  convenant  to  meet  me  at  the 
store  to-morrow  mornin',  as  I  want  to  see  him  on  some 
partic'lar  business,  and  fetch  word  if  he'll  be  thar,  and  what 
time." 

The  messenger  in  due  time  returned  with  answer  that 
Mr.  Ashley  would  be  at  the  appointed  place  somewhere  be 
tween  nine  and  ten  o'clock. 

"  All  right.     Ast  you  anything  about  me,  Josh  ?" 

"He  ax  me  ef  I  knowed  what  business  you  had  wid 
him." 

"  And  what  did  you  answer  him  ?" 

"I  told  him  I  knowed  nothin'  'tall  'bout  it." 

"  Fact.     Ast  you  anything  else  ?" 

"  He  said  'pear  like  my  marster  were  pecrtinin'  up  jes'  here 
lately,  paintin'  his  house,  an'  gittin  new  broadcloff  clo'es." 

"  And  what  did  you  answer  to  that  ?" 

"  I  told  Marse  Wiley  dat  as  for  de  paintin'  o'  de  house, 
everybody  see  she  need  dat  I  dunno  how  long;  an'  as  for 


A  CRITICAL  ACCIDENT  TO  ME.  ABSALOM  BILLINGSLEA.     25 

de  gittin  a  new  suit  o'  clo'es,  I  have  heerd  Miss  Nancy 
scoldin'  you  many  an'  many  time  for  not  dressin'  up 
sprucer — young  man  like  you." 

"  What  did  he  say  then «" 

"No  more,  Marse  Ab,  rnore'n  he  sort  o'  laughed.  But 
he  war  partic'lar,  Marse  Wiley  war,  to  ast  how  all  wus." 

"  He  laughed,  did  he  ?     That'll  do.     Go  'long." 

VII. 

Many  had  already  gathered  at  the  store  when  Mr.  Bil- 
lingslea  arrived.  Having  dismounted  and  fastened  his  horse 
to  one  of  the  racks,  he  advanced  and  bade  a  general  good- 
day  to  all. 

"Ah!  you  here  already,  Wiley ?  Got  somethin'  to  say 
to  you  when  I  speak  a  few  words  to  these  gentlemen. 
Gentlemen,  I  never  'spected  to  have  to  talk  about  such  mat 
ters  as  I  want  to  talk  with  you  a  little  now.  But  I  feel 
like  it  were  rny  jooty  to  let  my  neighbors  know  that  I  has 
as  good  as  co'ted  Missis  Julan  Ashley,  and  that  she  have  as 
good  as  'fused  me.  Now,  mind  ye,  I  know  well  as  ef  people 
told  me,  that  it  ain't  none  o'  my  business  how  Wile  Ashley 
ben  a-managin'  his  brother's  'state,  nor  a  treatin'  o'  his  wid- 
der  and  poor  Bob  Marler's  orphin  childern,  although  I  has  my 
opinions  about  that  and  them  ef  he  want  to  hear  'em  any 
time ;  and  I  tell  you  all  what  I'm  a-tellin'  you  now,  because 
he  have  ben  a  insinivvatin  that  the  said  female  person  have 
ben  a  behavin'  differ'nt  from  what  a  respectable  female 
widder  ought  to  berhave  herself;  an  I'm  the  man  ag'inst 
who  them  insiniwations  is  p'inted,  and  in  your  presence, 
gentlemen,  I  po — nounces  'em  LIES."  Then  turning  to 
Ashley,  he  said, 

"That's  the  business  I  had  with  you,  WTile.  How  shall 
we  settle  it  before  these  witnesses?" 

a 


26    A  CRITICAL  ACCIDENT  TO  MR.  ABSALOM  BILLIXGSLEA. 

They  were  two  powerful  men,  equal  in  weight,  nearly  so 
in  height.  Ashley  had  the  advantage  in  youth  by  several 
years,  and  by  considerable  successful  experience  in  hand- 
to-hand  combats  which  his  querulous,  overbearing  disposi 
tion  had  sometimes  provoked,  and  he  was  as  proud  of  his 
manhood  as  he  who  at  Hector's  funerals 

"  undertook 
Gigantic  Butes  of  th'  Amycian  stock." 

The  unexpectedness  of  the  charge  confounded  him  for  a 
moment.  Then  he  looked  at  his  assailant,  and  answered, 

"You're  a  good  deal  older  man  than  what  I  am,  Mr.  Bil- 
lingslea." 

"Yes,  that's  so.  But  if  you  begin  to  cote  my  age  on 
me,  Wile,  I  shall  be  obleeged  to  believe  you  to  be  as  big  a 
coward  as  I  know  you  to  be  a  liar." 

"They  ain't  but  one  way  to  settle  it  after  that,  sir." 

Instantly  throwing  off  his  coat,  he  dealt  Mr.  Billingslea, 
while  similarly  engaged,  a  blow  that  prostrated  him  on  the 
ground. 

"  Foul  play  !"  cried  several  men,  seizing  hold  of  Ashley  as 
he  was  proceeding  to  fall  upon  his  adversary.  The  latter 
quickly  rose,  and  casting  aside  his  garment,  in  a  tone  terrific 
in  sound  and  import,  cried, 

"  Turn  the  hound  loose,  and  I  gives  notice  that  any  man 
who  meddles  in  this  fight,  at  leastways  on  my  side  of  it,  is 
my  innimy.  Turn  him  loose,  I  tell  you,"  he  thundered,  as 
he  steadily  advanced. 

It  was  a  bloody,  an  awful  contest.  Several  times  in  its 
midst  they  paused  for  a  moment  to  recover  breath,  when 
the  elder  would  renew  the  struggle.  The  by  -  standers  at 
every  pause  besought  them  to  cease.  No  answer  was  given 
by  either,  until,  after  an  encounter  fiercer  and  prolonged 


A  CRITICAL  ACCIDENT  TO  ME.  ABSALOM   BILLIXGSLEA.    27 

more  than  any  preceding,  and  they  were  leaning  against  two 
oaks  that  stood  near,  Ashley,  to  these  renewed  entreaties, 
said,  between  his  pantings,  "  I  think  myself  we've  had 
enough  of  it.  I  got  nothin'  in  this  world  ag'inst  Mr.  Bil- 
lingslea,  and  he  ought  to  know  it." 

"Nothin'  ag'inst  Mr.  Billingslea !"  said  the  latter,  after  a 
loud,  contemptuous  laugh.  "  No,  you  got  nothin'  ag'inst 
him  exceptin'  the  bein'  of  called  a  liar  and  a  coward,  which 
you  know  you're  both  o'  them.  What  and  who  you  got 
things  ag'inst  is  women,  and  your  own  brother's  widder 
at  that.  Come,  sir,  git  away  from  that  tree,  and  squar' 
yourself  agin." 

Then  he  dealt  a  blow  that  sent  him  staggering.  Tri 
umphant  in  his  cause  and  now  assured  victory,  he  took  him 
by  the  head,  turned  him  round,  gave  him  a  push,  and  pur 
sued  him  as  the  elder  pursued  the  younger  combatant  in 
the  games  instituted  by  the  Trojan  hero  on  the  Sicilian 
shore,  when 

"  Disdain  and  conscious  virtue  fired  his  breast/* 

Soon  the  vanquished  fell  upon  the  ground,  whence  he  had 
to  be  lifted  and  carried  home  in  a  wagon. 

VIII. 

It  was  some  consolation  to  Mr.  Billingslea  that,  although 
the  last  hope  of  winning  the  woman  he  had  so  singly  loved 
was  blasted,  yet  he  had  rendered  her  a  service  that  she  had 
sorely  needed.  With  his  old  manfulness,  he  submitted  to 
his  disappointment  as  on  former  occasions,  and  when  he  had 
worn  away  the  scars  of  his  late  combat,  went  forth  with  ac 
customed  deliberateness  to  the  demands  of  domestic  and 
social  existence. 

About  two  months  after  the  events  last  narrated,  one  after- 


28    A  CRITICAL  ACCIDENT  TO  MR.  ABSALOM  BILLINGSLEA. 

noon,  when  the  sun  was  nearly  set,  he  walked  over  the  way 
to  the  Cokelys.  As  he  was  ascending  the  piazza  steps  he 
was  surprised  to  hear  the  voice  of  Mrs.  Ashley  as  she  was 
bidding  good-by  to  his  sister.  He  had  not  seen  her  since 
his  unfortunate  visit. 

"  Wait  a  moment,  Julan,"  said  her  hostess,  "  and  I'll  call 
Jimmy  to  go  with  you  all  the  way  home,  as  it's  rather — 
Just  in  time,  Br'er  Ab,"  she  continued,  turning  to  him  as  he 
entered — "  just  in  good  time  to  see  Julan  home.  I  was  just 
going  to  call — " 

".Oh,  now,  Nancy,"  said  Mrs.  Ashley,  "  it's  not  worth  while 
to  take  that  trouble.  I'm  not  afraid." 

She  looked  as  if  she  felt  deeply  distressed  at  the  enor 
mous  amount  of  trouble  she  was  giving  to  all  parties. 

"  No  trouble  at  all,"  answered  Mr.  Billingslea,  simply. 
"You  oughtn't  go,  at  leastways  through  the  swamp,  by 
yourself  after  sundown." 

They  went  forth  together,  and  proceeded  slowly,  first 
along  the  public,  then  down  the  neighborhood  road  that  they 
had  travelled  together  so  often  when  both  were  at  school. 
He  talked  in  his  usual  way  of  one  and  another  topic  that 
he  thought  might  be  of  some  interest.  She  chatted  with 
much  vivacity,  so  much  that  he  began  to  feel  doubtful  if  he 
was  keeping  up  with  her  fairly.  He  became  aware  some 
how  that  she  was  looking  up  constantly  towards  his  face, 
and  he  found  himself  wishing  very  much  to  look  down  into 
hers ;  but  he  knew  he  could  not,  and  that  it  would  never 
do  if  he  could.  On  and  on,  until  they  neared  the  streamlet. 
Another  log,  like  the  old,  lay  in  the  same  place. 

"  How  often,  how  often,"  said  Mrs.  Ashley,  "  do  I  call 
back  the  times  I  used  to  cross  that  log  when  I  went  to 
school  to  Mr.  Claxton  !" 

"  Me  too,"  answered  Mr.  Billingslea. 


A  CRITICAL  ACCIDENT  TO  MR.  ABSALOM  BILLINGSLEA.     29 

They  paused  simultaneously.  The  dusk  was  coming  on. 
A  cock-partridge  on  the  fence  near  by  whistled  to  his  mate  ; 
two  killdees  were  tripping  along  the  meadow  ;  a  hoarse  but 
affectionate  croak  sounded  to  their  right,  that  was  answered 
by  the  Indian-hen  as  she  sped  swiftly  before  them  to  her 
covert.  They  looked  at  each  other  for  several  moments. 

"  Julan,"  said  her  companion,  "  there's  ben  somethin'  of  a 
shower  o'  rain  down  here  this  evenin'  like,  and  the  branch 
banks  is  rather  damp.'' 

"  Are  they  ?" 

Then  she  put  out  her  little  foot,  with  its  new,  glistening, 
low-quartered  shoe,  and  the  stocking  on  her  instep  and  the 
narrowest  wisp  of  underskirt  that  appeared  were  whiter 
than  the  evening  cloud.  Oh,  it  would  be  a  pity  for  those 
delicate  fine  things  to  get  all  wet  and  draggled,  and  that 
without  any  earthly  necessity ! 

"Yes,  rather  damp,  and,  in  fact,  I  may  even  say  rather 
moist ;  and  it  and  the  jew  has  made  the  crossin'  log  ruther 
slippy." 

"  Have  they  ?" 

"  Yes ;  and,  Julan,  you  know  that  when  that  and  sech  is 
the  case  down  here,  I'm  minded  more'n  common  o'  them 
old-time  days." 

"Are  you?" 

"  Yes." 

Then  he  stooped,  raised  her  in  his  arms,  and,  as  of  yore, 
bore  her  across  the  stream  and  the  low  grounds.  She  laid 
her  head  upon  his  shoulder  as  he  strode  easily  along  with 
his  burden,  the  while  with  his  disengaged  hand  he  re 
moved  her  bonnet,  took  out  her  combs,  and  let  her  hair, 
long,  fresh,  abundant  as  ever,  dishevel.  When  he  had 
reached  the  rising  ground,  he  let  her  down  softly,  and  said, 
"  Julan,  jest  as  I  loved  you  then,  I've  always  loved  you." 


30    A  CRITICAL  ACCIDENT  TO  MR.  ABSALOM  BILLINGSLEA. 

"And  to  think — to  think  that  I  never  knew  it!  Oh, 
Absalom !" 

He  folded  his  arms  around  as  if  he  would  first  comfort 
her.  After  a  little  whib  he  lifted  her  head,  and  said, 
"  Julan,  we  mustn't  complain  now.  /  say,  blessed  be  God ! 
What  do  you  say  ?" 

"  I  say,"  she  answered,  beaming  with  grateful  tears  and 
smiles,  "  blessed  be  God  !" 

"  And,  oh,  boys,  it  were  a  accident,  my  gittin'  of  her  at 
last."  He  was  talking  to  a  knot  of  young  men  in  a  corner 
of  the  room  on  the  night  of  the  wedding,  while  his  eyes  fol 
lowed  Julan  moving  among  her  guests.  "  I  never  knowed 
how  to  go  about  a-co'tin',  and  I'd  V  never  of  got  her  in 
this  wooden  world  but  for  me — jest  her  and  me,  jest  acci 
dental — we  was  by  ourselves  at  the  medder  branch,  whar  I 
had  toted  her  a  many  a  time  over  the  crossin'  log  when 
she  were  a  little  girl  a-goin'  to  Mr.  Claxton ;  and  somehow 
thar — I  don't  know  agzactly  how  it  come  about,  but  I  shall 
always  believe  it  were  a  accident." 


THE  BEIEF  EMBARRASSMENT  OF 
MR.  IVERSON  BLOUNT. 


"  If  thou  dost  perform, 
Confound  thee,  for  thou  art  a  man." 

Timon  of  Athens. 

I. 

SOME  reflections  habitually  indulged  by  Mr.  Iverson 
Blount,  from  a  certain  period  in  middle  down  to  the  end 
of  old  age,  \vere  so  calm  and  sweet  that  I  feel  as  if  I  ought 
to  relate  a  few  of  the  circumstances  to  which  they  owed 
their  origin.  The  older  he  grew  the  greater  the  fondness 
and  circumstantiality  with  which  he  would  enlarge  upon  a 
very  embarrassing  duty  that  he  once  had  to  perform,  and  his 
satisfaction  with  the  results  of  his  endeavors  in  its  behalf. 
However  regretful  of  the  necessity,  I  must  abridge  much  of 
a  history  that,  to  him  at  least,  was  ever  extremely  interesting. 

When  a  young  man  of  about  five-and-tvventy,  he  had 
married  Miss  Mary  Jane  Kitchens,  with  whom  he  lived  rea 
sonably  happy  for  eighteen  years.  At  the  end  of  this 
period,  of  the  offspring  that  had  been  born  were  living 
Susan,  sixteen,  and  Josephus,  ten  years  old.  Besides  these 
children  of  her  own,  Mrs.  Blount  for  the  last  ten  years  had 
had  charge  of  a  little  girl  whom  its  own  mother  on  her  dying 
bed  had  consigned  to  her.  Of  this  child,  Mahala  Herrindine 


32     BRIEF    EMBARRASSMENT    OF    MR.  IVERSON   BLOUNT. 

by  name,  she  had  been  most  tender  withal,  and  many  a  time 
she  had  been  heard  to  say  that,  wrong  as  it  might  be,  she 
was  obliged  to  confess  that  the  difference  in  her  own  heart 
between  Susan  Blount  and  Maly  Ilerrindine  was  so  little  that 
she  was  always  pestered  in  her  mind  whenever  she  went 
about  trying  to  find  it.  This,  of  course,  went  to  show  what 
a  good,  docile,  thankful  child  Maly  always  had  been. 

Mr.  Blount,  a  hard-working,  economical,  and  during  this 
early  period  generally  considered  a  rather  close  and  cold 
man,  had  consented  reluctantly,  and  only  after  much  affec 
tionate  persuasion,  to  this  adoption  ;  but  he  managed  with 
discretion  the  child's  little  property,  and  had  always  tried 
to  partake  to  some  degree  of  his  wife's  fondness  for  her. 
Yet  he  had  often  expressed  the  hope  that  as  soon  as  poor 
little  Maly,  as  he  always  called  her,  should  be  old  enough, 
she  might  make  an  alliance  that  would  leave  to  him  and 
his  wife  the  sole  care  of  their  own  family. 

At  this  period  Maly  was  fifteen  years  old,  and  was  as 
smart  and  as  industrious,  though  she  might  not  have  been 
thought  by  most  young  men  as  pretty,  as  Susan. 

A  great  affliction  now  befell  this  interesting  family.  But 
I  do  not  propose  to  try  to  harrow  up  people's  feelings  by 
giving  in  detail  the  events  of  Mrs.  Blount's  long  sickness 
and  death.  I  must  not  omit,  however,  to  say  that  before 
her  departure  she  asked  and  obtained  from  her  husband  a 
promise  to  persist  in  the  care  that  had  been  taken  thereto 
fore  of  the  orphaned  girl.  Mr.  Blount,  full  of  grief  at  the 
loss  of  so  dear  a  companion,  and  somewhat  remorseful  in 
the  reflection  that  he  had  fallen  short  of  his  full  duties  in 
this  and  in  other  respects  of  her  wishes,  gave  the  promise, 
although  he  could  not  but  foresee  that  it  must  devolve 
much  responsibility. 

"  When  sech  a  woman,"  he  would  say  afterwards,  with 


BRIEF    EMBARRASSMENT    OF    MR.   IYERSON    BLOUNT.      33 

what  softness  he  could  employ — "  when  sech  a  woman  as 
Mayjane  Blount  dies,  and  have  been  the  wife  she  have,  it 
ain't  every  man  that  have  the  heart  to  deny  her  dyin'  words. 
Ah,  la\v  me!  And  yit,  what  I'm  to  do  with  that  po'  or- 
phing  child  in  the  fix  I'm  in — well,  I  must  natchelly  sup- 
posen  that  the  good  Lordamighty  know.  /  don't,  certain 
and  shore.  Ah,  law  me  !" 

Everybody  pitied  the  family.  Mr.  Blount,  following  the 
instincts  of  self-defence  against  too  excessive  grief,  indulged 
the  melancholy  consolation  of  speaking  constantly  in  terms 
of  unbounded  praise  of  his  late  companion's  excellent  good 
ness.  There  was  comfort  of  its  kind  in  trying  to  call  to 
mind  occasions  wherein  he  may  have  been  more  or  less  re 
gardless  of  her  feelings  even  in  unimportant  matters,  and 
in  resolving  to  do  henceforth  with  punctilious  fidelity  things 
that  he  now  sadly  remembered  too  often  to  have  postponed. 
The  late  Mrs.  Blount  was  a  remarkably  neat  person,  and 
perhaps  the  most  serious  complaint  she  had  ever  felt  like 
bringing  against  her  husband  was  his  carelessness  in  that 
behalf.  For,  good  man  and  good  husband  as  he  was,  it 
had  to  be  admitted  that,  as  a  general  thing,  he  was  what 
was  called  rather  slouchy  in  the  matter  of  his  dress,  and  by 
no  means  scrupulously  careful  in  that  of  his  manners. 
When  the  girls  had  grown  large  enough  to  be  noticed  by 
young  men,  Mrs.  Blount  would  gently  remonstrate,  and  as 
for  Susan,  she  would  get  to  downright  scolding  at  such 
lapses.  But  the  fact  of  the  business  was,  Mr.  Blount  used 
to  contend,  he  had  too  many  things  to  attend  to  of  his  own 
and  other  people's  to  be  kept  everlastingly  shaving,  brush 
ing  himself  up,  and  minding  every  step  he  took.  Maly, 
knowing  the  trouble  she  must  be  to  her  pa,  as  she  called 
Mr.  Blount,  never  had  joined  in  these  complaints,  either  in 
words  or  in  spirit. 


34     BRIEF    EMBARRASSMENT    OF    MR.  IVERSON   BLOUNT. 

Yet  at  the  funeral  Mr.  Blount  let  Susan  persuade  him  to 
put  on  his  best  things,  and  otherwise  deport  himself  as  be 
comingly  as  possible  to  one  who  in  the  matter  of  studied  grave 
demeanor  was  rather  a  new  beginner.  Continuing  even  af 
ter  the  funeral  in  this  course  of  conduct,  he  could  not  but 
be  thankful  for  the  far  more  comfortable  feelings  that  he 
had  now  merely  in  his  physical  being.  The  almost  pros 
trating  grief  he  had  endured  at  the  beginning  of  his  be 
reavement  was  thus  made  to  assume  some  dignity  that  con 
tributed  its  own  part  to  his  relief,  and  sometimes  he  would 
sigh  gently  to  think  how  he  often  had  disregarded  what  at 
last  would  have  induced  a  higher  enjoyment  even  to  himself. 

"Ah,  law  me !  a  man  never  know  what  sech  a  wife  is  tell 
he  lose  her.  Then  he  know." 

II. 

Everybody  who  has  ever  received  or  imparted  sympathy 
knows  how  sweet  it  is.  It  was  touching  to  see  how  this 
benign  influence  went  forth  and  back,  back  and  forth,  be 
tween  Mr.  Blount  and  the  girls.  Maly,  poor  child,  suffered 
evenly  with  Susan.  As  for  the  sympathy  from  outside,  that 
actually  poured  in  upon  all  the  bereaved.  People  said  in 
most  compassionate  dismay  that  they  could  not  see  how 
that  family  was  to  get  along  without  such  a  wife  and  mother. 
In  particular,  Mrs.  Juliann  Truitt,  an  excellent,  comely  young 
woman  of,  we  will  say,  twenty- eight  years  of  age,  whose 
husband,  dying  some  four  years  before,  had  left  her  with  a 
snug  little  property,  though  childless,  was  prompt  to  say 
that  if  she  did  not  know  how  to  feel  for  people  in  the  con 
dition  of  that  family  she  would  like  to  know  the  person 
who  did.  Then  there  were  two  young  men,  Cullen  Banks 
and  Williamson  Poole,  whose  deportment  during  the  first 
period  of  mourning,  though  not  as  demonstrative  as  that  of 


BRIEF    EMBARRASSMENT    OF    MR.  IVERSON    BLOUNT.      35 

Mrs.  Truitt,  was  probably  more  soothing,  at  least  to  the 
orphaned  girls.  Indeed,  the  relations  between  Mrs. Truitt  and 
the  late  Mrs.  Blount  unfortunately  had  not  been  altogether 
and  uniformly  as  pleasant  as  those  between  the  latter  and 
several  other  ladies  in  the  neighborhood.  The  plantation  of 
Mrs.  Truitt  joined  that  of  Mr.  Blount,  a  nice  bit  of  mead 
ow-land  lying  on  the  border.  It  had  been  absolutely  im 
possible,  without  keeping  them  penned  all  the  time,  to  hin 
der  the  two  flocks  of  geese  from  frequent  intermixture ;  and 
more  than  once,  at  feather-picking  times,  Mrs.  Blount  had 
had  her  feelings  hurt.  Not  that  in  her  heart  she  blamed 
Mrs.  Truitt  for  anything  more  than  listening  too  credulous 
ly  to  her  negroes,  who  always  claimed  for  their  mistress 
more  of  every  spring's  produce  of  the  flocks  than  Mrs. 
Blount  considered  entirely  just.  At  such  times  Mr.  Blount 
would  become  quite  angry,  and  but  for  the  influence  of  his 
prudent  wife  might  have  made  serious  ado.  I  mention  this 
circumstance,  apparently  trifling,  partly  because  of  the  fact, 
well  known  in  primitive  country  communities,  that  geese,  in 
one  way  and  another,  give  occasion  to  more  disputes  among 
women  who  reside  in  close  proximity  to  one  another  than 
any  other  domestic  animal,  and  partly  to  account  for  the 
less  soothing  influences  of  Mrs.  Truitt's  visits  upon  the  girls 
than  those  of  the  young  men.  Mr.  Blount  determined,  it 
seemed,  that  all  resentment  he  had  ever  felt  towards  this  ex 
cellent  woman  should  be  buried  in  the  grave,  and  sometimes 
he  would  gently  chide  Susan  for  the  way  in  which  she  would 
speak  of  her.  Susan's  face  would  flash  at  such  rebukes,  but 
she  would  at  once  become  silent,  and  afterwards  extremely 
anxious. 

Now,  people  may  say  what  they  please  about  second  mar 
riages,  and  the  heartlessness  of  widowers  in  suffering  them 
selves  to  be  led  into  them  with  indecent  haste.  In  extenu- 


36      BRIEF    EMBARRASSMENT    OF    MR.  IVERSON    BLOIJNT. 

ation  of  what  seemed  levity  in  this  particular  case,  I  plead 
only  that  Mrs.  Juliann  Truitt  was  an  uncommonly  good- 
looking  woman,  with  a  handsome  property  immediately  ad 
joining  that  of  Mr.  Blount,  and  that  now,  upon  mature  re 
flection,  Mr.  Blount  was  obliged  to  acknowledge  in  his  heart 
of  hearts  that  he  could  not  feel  sure  in  his  mind  that  she 
had  ever  put  any  deliberate  wrong  upon  his  family  on  the 
goose  question  or  any  other.  The  fact  is,  people  ought  to 
try  to  be  fair  in  the  judgments  they  pass  upon  others. 
Worse  men  than  Iverson  Blount  have  waited  longer,  but  I 
will  say  also  that  some  even  better  have  not  waited  so  long 
as  he  did,  before  trying  to  repair  a  great  loss.  1  hope,  also, 
that  in  spite  of  the  blame  that  may  be  put  upon  his  action, 
some'  allowance  will  be  made  for  the  earnest  desire  he  con 
tinued  to  feel  to  discharge  the  trust  he  had  undertaken  in 
the  care  of  Maly  Herrindine,  conflicting  as  may  be  the  opin 
ions  regarding  its  results. 

It  was  not  very  often  that  Mrs.  Truitt  came  to  the  house ; 
but  she  positively  must  come  sometimes,  in  order  to  do  what 
she  was  sure  in  her  mind  the  late  Mrs.  Blount  would  have 
done  in  reversed  circumstances. 

Both  the  young  men  seemed  to  understand  well  how  to 
time  their  visits  and  their  conversation.  Williamson  Poole 
was  a  cousin  of  the  late  Mr.  Truitt,  who  had  brought  him 
up  from  boyhood,  and  upon  his  death-bed  commended  him 
to  his  wife  as  one  whose  services  to  her  would  become  more 
and  more  valuable  as  he  should  grow  older.  At  the  present 
period  he  was  approaching  his  twenty-first  year.  For  at 
least  three  years  he  had  been  the  main  manager,  and  in  a 
way  entirely  satisfactory,  of  his  cousin  Juliann's  plantation 
business.  Everybody,  old  as  well  as  young,  spoke  well  of 
Williamson  Poole. 

Cullen  Banks  was  a  year  or  so  younger,  and  was  not 


BRIEF    EMBARRASSMENT    OP   MR.  IVERSON   BLOUNT.     37 

altogether  as  settled  and  industrious  as  Williamson.  But 
then  he  was  not  under  the  necessity  of  being  .so;  for  be 
sides  a  snug  property  already,  he  would  be  entitled  to  much 
more  at  the  division  of  his  father's  estate,  which  was  to 
take  place  at  the  death  of  his  mother,  who  was  now  ad 
vanced  considerably  beyond  sixty.  Other  young  men  were 
residents  in  the  neighborhood,  some  of  them  quite  promis 
ing  in  most  respects,  but  these  two  were  the  nearest  neigh 
bors  and  the  most  frequent  visitors  of  the  Blounts. 

I  have  already  intimated  that  during  his  wife's  lifetime 
Mr.  Blount  had  hoped  that  Maly  might  make  an  early  suit 
able  alliance,  that  would  relieve  him  of  the  painful  respon 
sibility  he  had  always  felt  in  her  behalf.  If  anything,  he 
now  indulged  this  hope  more  anxiously  than  before,  and  he 
did  so  the  more,  perhaps,  because  he  noticed  the  increasing 
aversion  of  the  girls  for  Mrs.  Truitt,  especially  that  of  Su 
san.  Not  that  he  ever  felt  the  slightest  temptation  to  for 
get  the  promise  which  he  had  made  about  Maly.  Iverson 
Blount  was  an  honorable  man,  and  he  knew  that  an  honora 
ble  man  must  ever  be  bound  by  promises,  especially  those 
that  were  as  solemn  as  the  one  that  he  had  undertaken. 
Now,  in  regard  to  Susan  he  had  no  great  anxieties,  for  he 
knew  that  she  was  pretty  and  good,  and  that,  with  already 
a  snug  property,  he  was  making  more  with  ease  and  rapid 
ity,  and  he  had  no  doubt  that  Susan  would  do  well,  all  in 
good  time.  But  Maly — there  was  Mr.  Blount's  embarrass 
ment  ;  and  there  is  not  a  particle  of  doubt  that  for  a  while — 
I  cannot  say  exactly  how  long — that  gave  him  much  concern. 
Many  a  widower,  though  having  lost  as  good  a  wife  as  Mr. 
Iverson  Blount's,  had  been  less  anxious  about  how  to  fulfil 
all  his  duties  and  wishes  than  he  was  now,  with  these  young 
children  on  his  hands,  one  of  them  an  orphan. 

It  will  not  be  doubted,  I  trust,  that  Mr.  Blount  felt  sin- 


38      BRIEF    EMBARRASSMENT    OF    MR.  IVERSON    BLOUNT. 

cerely  the  loss  of  the  good  wife  with  whom  he  had  lived  so 
long.  Yet  when  in  Susan's  presence  he  was  more  forbear 
ing  of  expression  to  his  grief  than  when  alone  with  Maly. 
Indeed,  he  did  not  think  it  right  to  harrow  his  daughter's 
feelings  by  a  too  frequent  allusion  to  their  great  affliction. 
This  was  one  reason.  Then  he  had  not  been  slow  to  per 
ceive  that  Susan's  hostility  to  Mrs.  Truitt,  in  which  he  could 
not  join  conscientiously,  had  subtracted  somewhat  from  her 
confidence  in  the  sincerity  of  his  expressions  of  his  sense  of 
bereavement.  Yet  when  alone  with  Maly  he  would  dwell 
upon  the  theme  to  the  degree  that  —  well,  the  good  girl 
would  declare  to  Susan  afterwards  that  to  save  her  life  she 
could  not  keep  from  crying  to  see  how  pa  missed  ma.  At 
such  times  Mr.  Blount  would  repeat  the  solemn  promise  he 
had  given,  and  add  that  if  he  did  not  keep  it,  it  would  be 
only  because  his  life  was  not  spared. 

"  And  as  for  that,  Maly,  you  know  I'm  a  man  of  remark 
able  good  health,  and  ain't  so  ageable  but  what  a  body 
that's  tempert  and  keerful  of  hisself  might  be  expected  to 
be  liable  for  a  right  smart  stretch  o'  time  yit,  more'n  some 
that's  younger.  And  as  for  Missis  Truitt,  she's  of  course  a 
very  fine  woman  ;  and  if  I  was  in  Susan's  place,  I  wouldn't 
be  quite  so  severe  on  her,  though  the  child  may  think  she 
know  more  about  her  than  what  I  do.  Ah,  law  me !  it's  a 
world  of  trouble,  and  yit —  But  here  Mr.  Blount  would 
stop,  take  out  his  handkerchief,  and  cover  his  eyes. 

Now,  the  fact  was  that  Maly  liked  Mrs.  Truitt  as  little  as 
Susan,  though  of  course  she  did  not  feel  that  she  had  the 
same  liberty  to  express  or  otherwise  exhibit  to  her  pa  the  re 
sentment  that  she  believed  she  owed  to  her  ma's  memory, 
at  least  in  secret,  to  indulge.  But  Maly  had  always  been  a 
prudent  girl,  and  now  she  forbore  giving  to  her  pa  any  ex 
pression  of  opinion  regarding  the  widow. 


BRIEF    EMBARRASSMENT    OF   MR.  IVERSON   BLOUNT.      39 


m. 

It  is  interesting  to  see  how  soon  sometimes  a  girl  becomes 
a  woman.  Not  long  after  her  mother  was  laid  away,  Susan, 
feeling  the  responsibility  of  her  position,  went  to  the  work 
of  domestic  affairs,  and  showed  apace  how  she  had  profited 
by  good  examples.  Maly  also,  at  becoming  pace,  followed  in 
all  duties,  and  many  a  man  younger  than  Mr.  Blount  might 
have  brought  himself  to  some  reconciliation  for  his  loss  by 
the  contemplation  of  so  much  that  had  been  spared.  To 
Susan  there  was  some  consolation  in  her  sorrow  from  the 
ever-increasing  deference  that  her  father  paid  to  her  and 
Maly  both,  speaking  to  them  generally  as  if  they  were  grown 
women,  yet  with  a  tenderness  to  which  in  other  days  they 
had  not  been  accustomed ;  and  there  was  partial  relief  to 
Susan's  anxieties  on  account  of  her  father's  persistence  in 
dressing  himself  with  unwonted  care,  in  the  fact  that  his 
habits  while  at  home  were  the  same  in  this  respect  as  when 
he  made  visits  to  Mrs.  Truitt. 

"  These  old  widowers  do  beat  the  world,"  Susan  would 
say  in  confidence  to  Maly.  "  Ma  never  could  make  pa  take 
any  pains  with  his  clothes,  hardly  even  of  a  Sunday,  and 
now  he  dresses  up  even  for  me  and  you  and  Josey.  There's 
some  satisfaction  in  that,  and  some  hope — at  least  I  hope 
so." 

The  young  men,  Cullen  and  Williamson,  after  a  decent 
interval,  began  to  visit  as  before,  sometimes  separately,  but 
more  often  together.  And  now  it  was  interesting  to  see  the 
conduct  of  Mr.  Blount  when,  remembering  his  promise  to 
the  dead,  he  felt  it  to  be  his  duty  to  bestow  upon  the  inter 
course  of  these  young  persons  the  attention  that  used  to 
devolve  entirely  upon  his  wife.  After  he  had  seen  them  to 
gether  several  times,  Mr.  Blount  smiled  inwardly  at  some- 


40      BRIEF    EMBARRASSMENT    OF    MR.  IVERSON    BLOUNT. 

thing  which  he  had  seemed  to  consider  his  duty  to  study 
closely.  Maly's  prospects  for  a  suitable  alliance  appeared 
to  be  brighter  than  for  some  time  he  had  been  apprehend 
ing.  For  there  was  no  manner  of  doubt  that  his  desire  was 
to  get  Maly's  case  off  his  mind  as  soon  as  possible,  when  he 
would  feel  perfectly  free  for  any  other  movements  he  might 
choose  to  make.  As  for  Susan  and  Josey,  he  knew  he  was 
their  father;  but  in  Maly's  case  there  was  some  delicacy 
which  even  the  rudest  could  not  forbear  to  consult.  So  one 
day  he  said  to  Susan, 

"  Glad  to  see  Cullen  and  Maly  like  one  'nother  so  power 
ful  much." 

"Cullen  Banks,  pa!"  said  Susan,  laughing,  yet  with  some 
redness  on  her  face.  "There's  nothing  in  the  world  be 
tween  Maly  and  Cullen,  except  that  they  like  each  other 
well  enough  as  friends.  Why,  what  upon  earth  put  that 
notion  into  your  head  ?" 

Mr.  Blount  looked  as  if  he  felt  much  disappointment. 
However,  he  calmly  answered, 

"  I  don't  know,  but  I  notice  him  right  smart  about  Maly 
here  lately." 

"  No  more  than  Williamson  Poole,  pa,  and — I'm  not  cer 
tain — if — quite  as  much." 

"  I  know  them  boys  in  gener'l  hunts  in  couples ;  but  I 
some  ruther  s'picioned — ahem — you  think  Williamson  have 
any  particklar  hankerin'  arfter  Maly  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  about  hankerin9,  pa,  as  you  call  it ;  but  I 
know  he  likes  Maly  first-rate — that  is,  I  am  pretty  certain 
of  it  in  my  own  mind." 

"  Um,  hum.  You  do ;  and  what's  your  'pinions  as  to 
how  Maly  like  Williamson  ?" 

"  She  likes  him  very  well,  as  well  as  Cullen,  if  not  some 
better." 


BRIEF   EMBARRASSMENT    OF   MR.  IVERSON    BLOUNT.     41 

Mr.  Blount  nodded  his  head  several  times  extremely  omi 
nously,  but  said  no  more  to  Susan.  That  night  at  the  sup 
per-table  he  discoursed  at  some  length  upon  the  subject  of 
marriage.  Among  other  things  he  said, 

"  Young  people,  'special'  females,  owes  it  to  theirselves 
to  be  monst'ous,  streenious  keerful  and  particklar  who  they 
take  up  with  in  that  kind  o'  style ;  and  'special'  in  the  p'ints 
o'  prop'ty.  For  it's  a  heap  easier,  and  it's  a  heap  conve- 
nanter,  and  it's  a  heap  comfortabler  to  start  with  some  prop' 
ty  than  it  is  to  have  to  work  an'  projeck,  and  deny  a  body's 
self  the  lugjeries,  and  the  comforts,  an'  sometimes  the  very 
needcessities  o'  life,  which,  in  course,  a  person  'd  like  to  have 
'em,  but  which,  when  they  starts  po',  by  marry  in'  of  po', 
they  has  to  wait  for  'em,  and  which,  ef  they'd  wait  and  look 
around  keerful,  the  chances  is  some  of  'em  might  do  better 
than  what  they  been  a-expectin'." 

Mr.  Blount  did  not  say  so  in  those  words,  but  he  was  de 
cidedly  opposed  to  Maly's  marrying  as  poor  a  young  man 
as  Williamson  Poole,  and  he  meant  to  tell  her  so,  if,  upon 
further  study,  he  should  suspect  that  there  was  likely  to  be 
any  understanding  between  them.  Susan  might  fret  herself 
about  Mrs.  Truitt  if  she  wished,  but  her  father,  whatever 
might  be  his  hopes  and  intentions  regarding  that  fine  wom 
an,  was  not  going  to  abate  one  jot  of  his  care  for  the  child 
of  his  wife's  adoption. 

That  night  when  Susan  and  Maly  had  gone  to  bed,  to 
sleep  together  as  usual,  Susan  said, 

"  Maly,  think  pa  didn't  suspicion  that  there  was  some 
thing  between  you  and  Cullen  ?" 

"You  don't  tell  me  so,"  answered  Maly.     "That's  why 
he  praised  Cullen  so  high  to  me  this  evening  then,  while 
you  were  getting  supper,  and  he  and  I  and  Josey  were  out 
on  the  piazza." 
4 


42      BRIEF   EMBARRASSMENT    OF    MR.  IVERSON   BLOUNT. 

"  No ;  for  I  told  him  not  an  hour  before  that  there 
wasn't." 

"That  so r 

"Yes,  indeed." 

"  Why,  he  praised  Cullen  to  the  skies,  and  said  he  were 
altogether  another  sort  of  man  from  Williamson,  but  that 
he  wouldn't  for  the  world  Mrs.  Truitt  should  hear  he  had 
used  such  words  about  her  cousin." 

"  Mrs.  Truitt !"  said  Susan,  with  disgust.  "  She  must 
come  in !  However,  it  was  rather  natural  for  her  to  come 
in  there.  Say,  pa  rather  run  down  Williamson  ?" 

"  No,  not  exactly  run  down.  I  couldn't  say  that.  But 
he  lifted  up  Cullen  sky-high,  and  he  said  pointedly  that  a 
girl  with  little  or  no  property  would  make  a  great  mistake 
to — to  take  up,  as  he  called  it,  with  a  poor  young  man  like 
Williamson." 

"  That,  indeed,"  said  Susan,  thoughtfully.  "  Yet,  but 
don't  you  know,  Maly,  that  to-day,  talking  to  me  about 
them  boys,  he  praised  Williamson  more  than  he  did  Cul 
len?  You  didn't  let  on  that  there  was  anything  between 
me  and  Cullen,  did  you,  Maly?" 

"Certainly  not." 

"I — almost  wish  you  had — but — what  does  pa  always 
want  to  drag  in  Mrs.  Truitt  for?  He  knows  very  well  that 
ma  never  liked  her,  and  pa  owes  it  to  ma,  and  he  owes  it  to 
me  and  Josey,  and  he  owes  it  to  you,  too,  Maly,  not  to  be 
so  afraid  of  hurting  Mrs.  Truitt' s  feelings.  The  reason  why 
he  talked  to  you  so  about  Williamson  was  because  I  told 
him  Williamson  liked  you  uncommon  well." 

"You  didn't!" 

"  Yes,  I  did.  The  fact  is,  Maly,  I  thought  I  ought  to. 
He  promised  ma,  you  know,  to  take  care  of  you,  and  do  his 
best  for  you,  and  his  ideas  are  to  see  the  way  clear  before 


BRIEF    EMBARRASSMENT    OF    MR.   IVERSON    BLOUNT.      43 

you.     That  is  very  good  in  pa,  I  think,  and  if  he  could  just 
leave  Mrs.  Truitt  out  of  the  case  I'd  think  it  was  all  right." 

Maly  drew  a  long  breath.  Williamson  Poole  had  never 
courted  her  in  set  words;  but  she  did  not  know  what  he 
might  do  some  day,  neither  had  she  determined  what  she 
would  do  in  certain  contingencies.  So  all  Maly  could  do 
now  was  to  draw  a  long  breath. 

."Maly,"  said  Susan,  after  some  pause,  "that  woman  is 
after  pa,  and  she's  been  after  him  ever  sence  poor  ma  was 
put  in  the  ground.  It  does  look  like  some  people  have  no 
decent  feelings.  And  if  pa  was  to  marry  her,  the  day  he 
done  it  would  either  kill  me  or  throw  me  into  conniption- 
fits."  Then  Susan  nestled  her  face  in  Maly's  bosom  and 
sobbed,  and  Maly  had  to  sob  too,  as  she  tenderly  patted  her 
beloved  sister's  head. 

The  next  morning  Mr.  Blount  said  at  the  breakfast-table, 

"  I  thought  I  heerd  some  laughin'  first  and  then  some 
cry  in'  among  you  two  last  night,  arfter  you  went  to  bed. 
What  were  the  funny  things,  and  what  were  the  deficulties?" 

Never  had  Mr.  Blount  looked  better  in  all  his  life.  It 
was  believed  in  the  neighborhood  that  no  man  had  lived  at 
any  period  who  had  learned  so  fast,  after  beginning  so  late 
in  life,  to  tie  his  cravat  so  deftly,  and  dress  himself  in  gen 
eral  so  well.  As  for  cinnamon  and  bear's  oils,  it  would  be 
useless  to  speculate  upon  the  quantity  that  man  put  upon 
everything  that  came  in  contact  with  himself. 

"  Oh,  pa,"  answered  Susan,  sadly,  "  just  some  little  talk  I 
and  Maly  had  made  me  laugh,  and  then  I  got  to  thinking 
about  poor  ma,  and  then  we  both  cried." 

Then  Susan  and  Maly  cast  down  their  eyes. 

"  Poor  dear  Ma'y  Jane  !"  said  Mr.  Blount,  sympathizing- 
ly.  "  It  ain't  easy  to  see  how  her  place  is  to  be  filled." 

"  Why,  pa  !"  said  Susan,  looking  up  with  reanimation,  "  I 


44      BRIEF    EMBARRASSMENT    OF   MR.  IVERSON   BLOUNT. 

think  we  are  getting  along  right  well — me  and  Maly — at 
tending  to  things." 

"  Oh  yes,  indeed,"  replied  Mr.  Blount,  "  toler'ble  well  for 
the  present  time  bein' ;  but  supposing  you,  and  supposing 
Maly,  was  to  take  it  in  your  heads  to  go  away  and  leave  a 
feller,  what  then  ?" 

The  girls  looked  at  each  other  and  again  cast  down  their 
eyes. 

"  Ah,  ha !  Urn,  hum  !"  said  Mr.  Blount,  rising.  "  Well, 
ef  anybody  ever  missed  another  like  I  miss  your  poor  ma, 
all  I  got  to  say,  I'm  as  sorry  for  'em  as  ever  I  were  for  a 
po'  lame  duck  with  one  broke  leg  and  one  broke  wing  to 
boot,  and  got  nothin'  upon  top  o'  the  blessed  ground  to  do 
but  to  go  about  a-hoppin'  and  a-floppin'  with  the  tothers ; 
and  the  fact  is,  /  can't  stand  it.  But  I  tell  you,  Susan,  and 
I  tell  you,  Maly,  that  I  don't  intend  to  be  rash,  and  I  don't 
intend  to  be  brash.  As  for  you  a-marryin',  Susan,  I  were 
jes'  a-runnin'  on  about  that,  and  it's  in  course  onuseless  for 
you  to  be  even  a-thinkin'  about  sech  a  thing  for,  lo  and  be 
hold,  these  many  years ;  and  I  don't  supposen  that  Maly  '11 
have  sech  a  idee  tell  she  can  see  her  way  cler  to  gittin'  as 
good  a  home  as  the  one  she  been  allays  used  to." 

Then  Mr.  Blount  retired  with  dignity,  ordered  his  horse, 
and  rode  over  to  Mrs.  Truitt's. 

"  What  does  such  talk  mean,  Maly  ?"  said  Susan.  "  Looks 
like  pa's  losing  his  senses.  When  he  talks  about  my  not 
marrying  in  years  and  years,  don't  he  know  that  I  couldn't 
live  in  this  house  with  that  woman?  I  wish  you'd  speak 
out  positive  with  pa,  Maly,  and  tell  him  it  wouldn't  do  to 
bring  her  here." 

"  Why,  Susan,  what  could  I  do  with  pa  ?  It  wouldn't 
look  like  it  was  my  business  to  tell  him  he  oughtn't  to  mar 
ry  again,  and,  besides,  it  wouldn't  do  any  good.  He's  a 


BRIEF    EMBARRASSMENT    OF    MR.  IVERSON    BLOUNT.      45 

young  man  yet,  that  is,  tolerable  young,  and — the  fact  is, 
Susan,  pa  misses  ma  perfectly  dreadful,  and  I  can't  but  be 
sorry  for  him  the  way  he  talks  about  her  when  him  and  me 
are  by  ourselves.  I  wish  myself  that  Mrs.  Truitt  wouldn't 
be  quite  so — well — insinuating  is  what  I'll  say  as  for  her. 
But  I  tell  you  now  that  fussin'  and  frettin'  with  pa  will  do 
more  harm  than  good." 

"  Well,"  said  Susan,  mournfully,  "  I'm  going  to  try  to  put 
my  trust  in  the  good  Lord  to  save  us  all  from  that  woman." 

"  That's  just  the  place  where  we'll  have  to  put  it,  Susan," 
answered  Maly,  who,  if  anything,  was  even  a  more  religious- 
minded  girl  than  Susan. 

IV. 

Mr.  Blount.  knowing  that  he  had  matters  on  his  hands 
that  required  both  caution  and  despatch,  in  a  comparatively 
brief  time  did  an  amount  of  thinking  that  might  safely 
be  said  to  have  been  enormous.  The  Blount  and  Truitt 
plantations  adjoining,  he  and  Williamson  Poole  must  often 
meet  near  the  border  and  have  a  friendly  chat  while  sitting 
on  the  division  fence.  On  the  same  day  of  the  table-talk 
at  home,  Mr.  Blount,  although  he  had  had,  only  a  few 
hours  before,  a  comfortable  visit  to  the  widow,  yet  design 
edly  rode  out  into  the  meadow,  and  not  seeing  the  young 
man,  hitched  his  horse,  climbed  the  fence,  and  walked  to 
the  rise  in  the  field.  Williamson,  who  was  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  distant,  observing  him,  left  off  his  work,  and  joining 
the  visitor,  the  two  walked  back  to  the  fence.  There  they 
had  a  long,  long  talk ;  for  on  occasion,  and  especially  with 
his  juniors  and  inferiors,  Mr.  Blount  was  not  at  all  wanting 
in  volubility  of  speech.  Just  before  parting  he  looked  with 
much  kindness  upon  Williamson,  and  said, 

"  Williamson  Poole,  I  tell  you  now,  right  here,  betwixt 


46      BRIEF    EMBARRASSMENT    OF   MR.  IVERSON    BLOUNT. 

me  and  you  and  this  fence,  that  when  a  young  man,  and 
special  a  good-lookin',  industr'ous  young  man — I'm  a-nam- 
iri'  o'  no  names,  for  people  oughtn't  to  be  a-namin'  o' 
names  right  in  the  presence  o'  them  they  talkin'  about, 
because  the  flatterin'  o'  people  is  what  I  allays  dispised,  so 
fur  as  Pm  concerned  ;  but  yit  when  sech  a  young  man  start 
with  his  nose  on  the  grindstone,  it's  in  gener'l  his  own 
fau't,  and  it's  obleeged  to  be  long  before  he  can  git  it  off, 
ef  ever.  Not  as  I  should  adwise  a  feller  out  an'  out  to  go 
for  prop'ty,  and  nothin'  but  prop'ty,  and  no  female  a  worth 
havin'  to  be  flung  along  with  it.  Yet  prop'ty's  a  monst'ous 
good  backer-up  to  a  feller,  and  it's  allays  been  strange  and 
cur'ous  to  me  when  a  feller,  special  them  that's  indus 
tr'ous,  and  good-lookin'  to  boot,  don't  try  to  marry  into  it 
when  he's  a-thinkin'  about  of  settlin'  of  hisself  for  good. 
Well  well,  well !  But,  bless  my  soul,  Williamson  !  what  a 
sple-splendid  'oman  is  your  Cousin  Juliann  !  A  beauti- 
fuller  I  should  never  desires  to  lo  and  behold,  and  it  is  my 
desires  that  you  give  her  my  best  respects,  though  it  ain't 
been  more'n  three  hours  sence  I  seen  her." 

Williamson  Poole  was  a  young  man  of  excellent  charac 
ter  and  sense,  though  not  quick  to  understand  any  other 
than  conduct  and  conversation  entirely  direct.  But  he 
thought  he  was  not  so  dull  as  not  to  comprehend  the  mean 
ing  of  Mr.  Blount's  present  deportment.  He  sat  upon  the 
fence  and  looked  thoughtfully  at  him  as  he  rode  slowly 
away.  When  Mr.  Blount  had  gotten  out  of  sight,  he  said, 

"You  be  dogged.  You  think  you  can  beat  creation,  old 
man.  Want  me  to  help  you  to  git  Cousin  Juliann,  do  yon, 
by  makin'  out  like  you  willin'  for  me  to  git  Susan  if  I 
can  ?  We'll  see." 

Now,  Mrs.  Truitt  had  not  remained  a  widow  thus  long 
for  want  of  opportunities  to  change  her  state.  Yet  within 


BRIEF    EMBARRASSMENT    OF    MR.  IVERSON    BLOUNT.      47 

the  last  year  or  so  she  had  been  growing  apparently  more 
bright  and  cheerful  than  during  the  previous  years  of  her 
widowhood,  and  notably  since  the  death  of  Mrs.  Blount 
she  was  becoming  a  different  woman  altogether.  People 
knowing  the  plantations  adjoined  saw  how  natural  every 
thing  was,  and  they  blamed  neither  her  nor  Mr.  Blount  for 
their  inevitable  and  rather  rapid  approximation  to  each 
other.  In  spite  of  Mr.  Blount1  s  age  and  the  incumbrance 
of  children,  he  had  great  vigor  and  activity  of  body,  and, 
already  with  a  good  property,  was  getting  more  faster  than 
any  other  man  in  the  community.  In  a  very  few  months, 
therefore,  after  his  wife's  departure,  Mrs.  Truitt  had  dis 
carded  every  particle  of  black  except  a  very  narrow  white 
ribbon,  which,  to  prevent  too  much  talk,  she  wore  round 
her  neck  when  abroad.  To  Williamson  Poole  she  had  al 
ways  been  very  kind,  had  paid  him  reasonable  if  not  high 
wages  for  his  services,  and  Williamson  knew  that  his  cousin 
Juliann  wished  him  well,  because  she  had  often  told  him 
so  with  emphasis  and  entire  sincerity. 

The  same  night  after  his  talk  with  Mr.  Blount,  while  at 
supper,  he  delivered  the  latter's  message,  yet  not  with  great 
heartiness. 

"  Sent  his  respects,  did  he  ?  Much  obliged  to  him.  Say 
anything  about  me,  \Villiamson  ?" 

"Oh  yes'm  ;  complimented  you  high." 

"  Ah,  indeed  ?  Said  I  look  tolerable  well  for  one  of  my 
age?" 

"  No'm,  not  that,  by  no  manner  of  means.  He  said  you 
were  the  youngest-looking  woman  of  your  age  he  knewed 
of." 

"  Oh,  ho  !     Say  how  old  he  thought  I  was  ?" 

"  He  allowed  he  thought  you  might  be  somewhere  be 
tween  twenty-three  and  twenty-five." 


48      BRIEF    EMBARRASSMENT    OF   MR.  IVERSQN   BLOUNT. 

"  I  was  married  very  young,"  said  Mrs.  Truitt,  thought 
fully.  "  Did  Mr.  Blount  say  how  old  he  was,  Williamson  ?" 

"Yes'm;  he  said  he  disremembered  whether  he  was 
thirty-eight  or  thirty-nine." 

Mrs.  Truitt  laughed. 

"  A  right  spruce-looking  gentleman,  isn't  he  ?  and  a  nice 
man,  a  very  nice  man,  indeed."  Then  Mrs.  Truitt  drew  a 
long,  sweet  breath. 

"  Which  you  think  is  the  finest  girl, Williamson,  Susan,  or 
Maly  ?  I  think  myself  that  Susan  Blount  is  one  of  the  fin 
est  girls  I  ever  knew.  Of  course  I  include  property,  which 
Maly  has  little  of,  and  may  have  none  if  Mr.  Blount — what 
of  course  he  has  the  right  to  do — should  charge  her  for  her 
board,  though  the  poor  child  is  a  very  good,  and  indeed  I 
think  an  excellent,  girl." 

His  cousin  Juliann  having  answered  her  own  question, 
Williamson  could  think  of  nothing  to  say  more  than  that 
he  thought  both  of  them  very  fine  girls.  That  night  he 
could  not  get  to  sleep,  oh,  I  suppose,  not  before  midnight; 
and  he  lay  in  his  bed  and  turned  and  turned  himself  over 
and  over,  pondering.  Even  when  he  got  to  sleep  he  dream 
ed  endless  and  most  curious  things  about  Mr.  Blount  and 
his  cousin  Juliann,  the  two  girls  and  Cullen  Banks.  Con 
sidering  the  want  of  celerity  in  Williamson  Poole's  habit 
ual  mental  operations,  few  young  men  ever  did  a  greater 
amount  of  thinking  in  the  same  length  of  time  than  was 
done  by  him  during  the  next  few  weeks. 

Time  went  on.  Mr.  Blount  seemed  to  grow  younger 
and  younger.  When  the  young  men  would  ride  over  in 
the  afternoon,  sometimes  he  would  challenge  them  to  jump 
and  leap  with  him,  and  he  would  beat  them  both  fully  two 
inches.  Both  knew  better  than  to  accept  his  banter  to 
wrestle,  or  even  run  a  foot-race.  So  Mr.  Blount  would  ab- 


BRIEF   EMBARRASSMENT    OF   MR.  IVERSON   BLOUNT.      49 

sorb  most  of  the  talk  during  such  visits,  and  sometimes  he 
was  suspected  by  all  of  managing  to  couple  together  as 
much  as  possible  Cullen  with  Maly,  and  Williamson  with 
Susan.  As  for  Susan,  she  had  a  double  trouble :  one,  her 
father's  unbecoming  juvenility  and  evident  growing  partial 
ity  for  Mrs.  Truitt;  the  other  his  apparent  disregard  of 
Cullen  in  the  relation  that  her  heart  had  been  set  upon. 
Her  father,  noticing  her  want  of  proper  cordiality  towards 
himself,  allowed  some  coolness  to  grow,  and  it  was  all  that 
Maly  could  do,  in  going  between,  to  keep  them  on  even 
reasonable  terms  with  each  other.  To  Maly  he  spoke  with 
out  reserve  upon  whatever  subject  he  happened  to  think  of. 
They  were  never  together  that  he  did  not  talk  of  his  de 
parted  wife  in  a  way  to  make  Maly  cry ;  and  though  at 
such  times  he  seldom  mentioned  Mrs.  Truitt's  name,  kind 
ly  avoiding  disturbance  of  Maly's  affectionate  thoughts  of 
her  benefactress,  he  would  get  upon  the  subject  of  Cullen 
Banks,  and,  while  scarcely  mentioning  Williamson's  name, 
praise  Cullen  to  the  very  skies,  and  intimate  what  a  fine 
thing  it  would  be  for  a  girl  with  little  or  no  property  to 
get  him  for  a  husband. 

"  But,  pa,"  said  Maly,  one  day,  "  Cullen  does  not  care  par 
ticularly  for  me,  nor  I  for  him.  I  thought  you  knew  he 
liked  Susan  better  than  me,  and  that  she  likes  him  better 
than  I  do." 

"That  so?"  said  Mr.  Blount,  with  some  darkness  on  his 
brow.  "  I  knovved,  Maly,  that  if  it  were  either  of  them 
boys  you  liked  the  best,  it  were  obleeged — or  ought  to  be 
obleeged  by  good  rights — to  be  Cullen.  For,  to  save  my 
life,  I  couldn't  see  how — well,  my  dear  Maly,  these  is  sub 
jects  that  people  can't  help  from  thinking  about.  As  for 
Susan  and  Cullen — ah,  law  me  !  That  weren't  adzactly — 
but  time  enough  to  think  of  that  for  many  a  year  yit.  Su- 


50      BRIEF    EMBARRASSMENT    OF   MR.  IVERSON    BLOUNT. 

san  need  adwice  if  she  only  knowed  it.  As  for  me,  I  s'pose 
even  /mout  need  adwice  sometimes  well  as  she.  But  look 
like  me  and  her  can't  talk  together  to  much  satisfaction, 
and  you  too  prudent  I  know  to  repeat  over  to  her  all  I  say. 
Of  course,  I  think  Mrs.  Truitt  one  o'  the  finest  and  beauti- 
fullest  women  anywheres,  and  if  I  should  ever  take  it  in  my 
mind  to  marry  again,  it  don't  look  reasonable  to  suppose 
I'd  ask  Susan  for  her  consents.  And  besides,  you  know 
yourself,  Maly,  that  I'm  a  young  man,  a  reasonable  speak- 
in',  and  can  outrun,  outjump,  outlift,  and  fling  down  other 
Cullen  or  Williamson,  and  outlast  'em  at  whatsomever  we 
mout  go  at.  Though,  matter  of  course,  I  shouldn't  de 
sires  for  Mrs.  Truitt  to  hear  of  all  I  said  about  Williamson, 
for  I  should  hate  it  dreadful  to  hurt  her  feelin's;  but  I 
know  you  prudent  enough  to  know  what  to  tell  and  what 
not  to  tell." 

Many  such  chats  these  two  had  together.  When  the 
girls  would  go  to  bed,  and  Susan,  as  always,  would  get 
upon  her  own  troubles,  Maly  would  comfort  her  the  best 
she  could,  and  the  two  would  go  to  sleep  in  each  other's 
arms.  Of  course,  Maly  did  not  tell  Susan  of  how  her 
pa  had  spoken  comparatively  of  Cullen  and  Williamson, 
partly  because  she  knew  that  he  expected  her  not  to  do 
so,  and  partly  because  she  would  not  for  the  world  that 
Susan  should  suspect  for  a  moment  that  her  intention  or 
desire,  even  with  the  powerful  assistance  of  her  pa,  was  to 
supplant  Susan  in  Cullen's  regard.  To  tell  the  truth,  Maly 
Ilerrindine  was  one  of  the  most  honest -hearted  girls  in 
this  world. 

V. 

Meanwhile  Mrs.  Truitt  was  growing  younger  and  young 
er,  to  all  appearance,  although  people  said  that,  in  the  cir- 


BRIEF    EMBARRASSMENT    OP   MR.  IVERSON    BLOUNT.      51 

cumstances,  it  would  be  more  becoming  for  her  to  try  to 
look  a  little  older.  But  circumstances  are  rare  when  wom 
en  at  any  age  do  that.  She  visited  freely  the  girls,  not 
without  suspecting  that  neither  of  them  liked  her.  But 
she  knew  that  appearances  had  to  be  kept  up,  and  so  she 
visited  them  often,  and  was  as  motherly  in  her  deportment, 
especially  towards  Susan,  as  one  so  young  could  be.  Su 
san,  of  course,  treated  her  with  proper  respect  while  at  the 
house,  but  after  her  departure,  and  as  soon  as  she  could 
find  an  opportunity,  she  would  pour  out  her  griefs  on 
Maly's  sympathizing  breast. 

Mr.  Blount  began  soon  to  make  his  visits  to  his  fair  neigh 
bor  more  and  more  frequent.  The  coolness  grown  between 
him  and  Susan  seemed  to  make  him  resolve  to  push  matters 
to  a  settlement.  He  and  Williamson  continued  to  have  their 
chats  at  the  fence,  in  which  the  property  question  always 
came  up,  and  was  dwelt  and  dwelt  upon  by  the  man  of  ex 
perience.  Of  late  Williamson  had  been  growing  somewhat 
resentful,  or  at  least  sullen  in  his  feelings,  towards  Mr. 
Blount.  He  had  found  that  Cullen  and  Susan  were  in  love 
with  each  other,  and  he  suspected  that  Mr.  Blount  knew  it. 
Then  he  thought  with  pain  of  Maly's  apparent  indifference 
to  his  having  been  thrown  of  late  so  often  in  Susan's  spe 
cial  company.  Now,  of  the  two  girls  Williamson  admired 
Maly  the  more ;  but  he  knew  what  his  cousin  Juliann  would 
say  if  he  told  her  so.  Then  he  knew  he  was  poor,  and  he 
could  not  but  reflect  that  Mr.  Blount's  repeated  allusion  to 
the  contact  of  a  poor  young  man's  nose  with  the  grindstone, 
if  unkind,  was  not  altogether  inapposite.  When  his  mind 
had  come  to  the  conclusion,  or  almost  there,  that  Mr.  Blount 
would  not  be  willing  for  him  to  get  either  of  the  girls,  Will 
iamson  felt  and  thought — but  the  fact  is,  it  would  be  diffi 
cult,  and  would  require  an  extended  analysis  of  human  mo- 


52     BRIEF    EMBARRASSMENT    OF    MR.  IVERSON    BLOUNT. 

tives  in  such  a  case  which  I  do  not  feel  competent  to  make, 
to  tell  all  of  what  Williamson  Poole  did  feel  and  think.  I 
can  only  narrate  actions.  On  one  point  he  became  fully 
convinced,  and  that  was,  that  all  Mr.  Blount's  pretended 
kindness  to  himself  had  a  selfish  motive,  and  that  was  to 
prevent  hostility  upon  his  part  to  the  suit  of  his  cousin  Ju- 
liann. 

One  afternoon  Mr.  Blount,  while  at  the  fence,  after  his 
usual  homily  on  the  nose  and  the  grindstone,  and  then  sud 
denly  branching  off  to  the  extreme  youth  and  beauty  of 
Mrs.  Truitt,  and  what  a  fine  property  she  had,  and  what  a 
splendid  plantation  the  two  would  make  if  they  should  ever 
be  united  into  one,  spoke  regretfully  of  the  changes  and 
separations  such  an  event  would  necessarily  effect. 

"  But,  I  tell  you  now,  Williamson  Poole,  that  I  shall  nev 
er  forgit  what  a  fine,  pleasant,  good  neighbor  Williamson 
Poole  used  to  be,  although  a  not  of  ownin'  o'  the  planta 
tion  nor  no  great  deal  o'  property  of  no  sort." 

"  Made  rne  that  mad  I  couldn't  hardly  see." 

This  last  remark  was  made  in  a  presence  wherein,  if  as 
excellent  a  young  man  as  Williamson  Poole  had  had  more 
time  for  reflection,  he  might  not  have  made  it.  Mrs.  Truitt 
smiled,  and  then,  looking  intently  at  him,  said,  in  a  gently 
chiding  tone, 

"  I  hope  you  didn't  get  mad,  Williamson,  because  Mr. 
Blount  said  I  looked  so  young  and — and  all  that.  I  hope 
I  don't  look  so  very  old  to  you.'1'1 

"  Law  bless  my  soul,  Cousin  Juliann !  in  course  not. 
You  look  a  thousand  times  too  young  for — " 

But  there  Williamson  knew  he  was  going  too  far,  and 
he  saw  his  cousin  Juliann's  eyes  opening  wide.  So  he  left 
off  abruptly,  and  did  not  return  for  an  hour.  He  was  grati 
fied  to  find  no  trace  of  resentment  in  his  cousin  Juliann's 


BRIEF    EMBARRASSMENT    OF    MR.  IVERSON   BLOUNT.      53 

words  or  manner.  The  fact  was  that  Mrs.  Truitt  knew  too 
well  what  a  faithful  relative  and  friend  Williamson  Poole 
had  been  to  her,  to  resent  a  hasty  remark  that  in  the  cir 
cumstances  was  possibly  natural.  Other  talk  they  had,  and 
when  AVilliamson  went  to  bed  he  could  not  but  feel  in  his 
heart  that  he  ought  to  bear  no  malice  against  Mr.  Blount, 
so  kindly  had  his  cousin  Julian n  spoken  of  him. 

Cases  of  the  sort  I  am  telling  about  generally  culminate 
fast.  Young  as  both  Mr.  Blount  and  Mrs.  Truitt  felt,  they 
were  obliged  to  know  that  they  would  never  be  any  young 
er.  Susan  found  herself  growing  more  and  more  in  love 
with  Cullen,  and  was  beginning  to  take  some  comfort  in  the 
thought  of  the  reliance  she  knew  she  could  place  on  his 
faithful  heart ;  for  she  had  made  up  her  mind  that  when 
"  that  woman  "  (as  she  called  Mrs.  Truitt)  should  come  into 
that  house,  she  would  leave  it,  with  her  father's  consent 
or  without  it.  But  then  what  about  poor  Maly,  whom  Su 
san  had  been  observing  to  be  very  thoughtful  at  times,  and 
even  sad  ? 

"  I'm  ashamed,  Maly,  after  what  pa  promised  ma  on  her 
very  dying  bed,  for  him  to  go  on  in  that  way,  and  bring 
that  woman  here  to  hector  over  you.  But  never  mind, 
precious,  they  sha'n't  abuse  you.  You  shall  live  with  me 
and  Cullen." 

Then  Susan  would  take  Maly  to  her  bosom,  and  Maly 
would  hug  Susan  and  sob.  The  good  girl  did  need  com 
fort  from  some  source,  she  thought.  Yet  Maly  Herrindine 
had  much  strength  of  character,  and  though  without  saying 
so  to  Susan  in  the  latter's  present  frame  of  mind,  she  had 
been  seriously  considering  what  she  ought  to  do,  and  what 
she  would  do  in  given  contingencies.  Then,  in  her  private 
chats  with  her  pa,  he  had  solemnly  assured  her  that  what 
ever  should  happen  he  would  do  his  best  that  she  should 


54      BRIEF    EMBARRASSMENT    OF    MR.  IVERSON    BLOUNT. 

not  suffer  from  any  change  in  his  circumstances.  So  Maly, 
though  often  thoughtful  and  sad,  would  sometimes  look 
quite  calm,  and  occasionally  try  to  look  moderately  cheer 
ful,  especially  when  in  the  presence  of  her  pa,  to  whom, 
after  all,  she  knew  that  she  ought  to  be  grateful  for  all  that 
he  had  done  and  said.  Not  unfrequently,  when  Mr.  Blount 
was  away,  in  town  or  at  Mrs.  Truitt's,  she  would  repair 
alone  to  Mrs.  Blount's  grave,  and  sit  there  quite  a  time,  mus 
ing  and  shedding  tears.  "  Poor  little  Maly  !"  the  affection 
ate  Susan  would  often  sigh. 

The  event  came  on  even  sooner  than  had  been  expected. 
One  morning  at  breakfast  Mr.  Blount,  looking,  if  anything, 
younger  than  he  had  been  in  six  months,  and  redolent  of 
cinnamon  and  bear's  oil,  with  a  business,  yet  somewhat  em 
barrassed,  air,  said, 

"  You  all's  inwited  next  Chuseday  night  to  Missis  Truitt's. 
I'm  goin'  to  town  to-day,  and  would  want  one  of  you  to  go 
with  me  and  help  me  choose  a  present  for  a — for  a  person 
o'  the  female  wocation  o'  life ;  ahem  !" 

Mr.  Blount  simply  had  to  look  down.  Susan  turned  per 
fectly  red,  and  said,  disjointedly, 

"  It's  come,  pa,  is  it  ?  Well,  pa,  under  the  circumstances 
— under  all  the  circumstances,  I  don't  —  no,  I  should  not 
think  you'd  expect  me  'to  go  with  you." 

Then  Susan  rose  and  left  the  table. 

"All  right,"  said  Mr.  Blount,  recovering  himself.  "Get 
ready,  Maly.  Be  in  a  hurry.  Sharp's  the  word,  and  quick 
the  motion,  now." 

Maly  regarded  Susan  with  deepest,  tenderest  sympathy  ; 
nevertheless  she  rose  instantly  and  went  to  get  her  things. 

"  Oh,  Maly,  Maly,"  said  Susan,  while  assisting  her  to  dress, 
"  it's  too  bad.  I  do  hope  you'll  make  pa  buy  the  meanest, 
ugliest  thing  in  the  store  for  that  woman." 


BRIEF   EMBARRASSMENT    OF    MR.  IVERSOX    BLOUNT.      55 

"  My  dearest  Susan,  I  do  think  you  are  too  hard  on  Mrs. 
Truitt.  Let  us  all  hope  it  will  all  turn  out  better  than  we 
— may  be,  we  may  all  be  afraid  it  will." 

"  Bless  your  soul,  Mai y  !  you've  got  a  forgiving  heart,  and 
a  great  deal  better  one  anyhow  than  me.  If  it  wasn't  for 
you — and  Cullen,  of  course — I  should  just  lie  right  down 
and  die — I  know  I  should." 

Left  alone,  except  with  Josephus,  Susan  had  but  little  to 
say  during  the  forenoon,  even  to  him.  She  told  Josey,  re 
signedly,  that  he  was  a  boy,  and  therefore  could  stand  it, 
but  that  he  owed  to  the  memory  of  his  mother  not  to  be 
run  over  every  day  and  every  hour  of  his  life  by  that  wom 
an  ;  and  Josey  said  that  if  that  woman  would  let  him  alone 
he  would  let  her  alone,  and  that  if  she  did  not  there  would 
be  a  fuss.  Susan  wished  that  Cullen  would  come.  But 
the  day  before,  unknown  to  her,  Mr.  Blount  had  told  Cullen 
that  if  he  would  meet  him  at  the  court-house  this  morning 
he  would  answer  definitely  a  question  that  Cullen  had  put 
to  him  some  weeks  before.  The  question  pertained  to  Su 
san,  and  Mr.  Blount  had  said  to  Cullen  that  Susan's  marry 
ing  him  with  her  father's  consent,  and  getting  any  of  his 
property  to  take  with  her,  would  depend  upon  her  conduct 
in  circumstances  then  too  many  and  too  tedious  to  mention. 
The  county-seat  was  about  twelve  miles  distant. 

About  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  here  came  Cullen  gal 
loping  to  the  gate.  Susan  had  just  time  to  give  her  hair 
another  turn  and  tie  a  fresh  ribbon  around  her  neck  when 
he  came  running  into  the  piazza. 

"  Why,  Cullen,  what  in  this  world  makes  you  so  rapid 
and  so  red  in  the  face?" 

"  Let  me  get  my  breath — and — I'll  tell  you.  Now,  Su 
san,"  said  Cullen,  when  he  had  gotten  through  with  his  news, 
"  mind  what  you  do;  everything  with  us  depends  on  it." 


56     BRIEF   EMBARRASSMENT    OF   MR.  IVERSON    BLOUNT. 

To  her  dying  day  Susan  Banks  (nee  Blount)  would  de 
clare  that  she  did  not  know  which  she  did  most,  crying  or 
laughing,  on  that  momentous  occasion.  She  would  cry 
awhile,  and  then  scream  with  laughter.  Finally,  when  she 
could  compose  herself,  she  said,  in  a  religious  tone, 

"  Oh,  Cullen,  I'm  so  thankful  that  I  put  my  trust  in  the 
good  Lord,  and  I'm  going  to  do  it  now  more  than  ever." 

An  hour  afterwards  the  gig  came  on  leisurely  ;  Susan  and 
Cullen,  hand-in-hand,  met  it  at  the  gate. 

"  How  dy',  pa?  good-evening,  ma." 

Then  Susan,  crying  and  laughing,  again  rose  upon  the 
step,  hugged  the  bride  in  the  very  gig,  and  all  the  way  out 
of  the  gig,  and  into  the  house.  And  the  bride  hugged  Susan, 
too,  though  somewhat  in  irregular  spasms,  for  she  trembled 
the  same  as  an  aspen-leaf,  and  her  face  was  as  red  as  any  beet. 

"  Oh,  pa !"  cried  Susan,  at  last  pouncing  upon  him.  "  You 
sly,  good,  deceitful,  glorious  old  —  dear  old  coon,  and  fox 
both !  How  come  you  to  fool  me  so,  and  make  Maly  fool 
me  so  ?" 

For  the  bride  was  Maly. 

"  How  long  have  you  had  Maly  in  that  old  head,  pa  ?  I 
thought  you  was  going  to  bring  here  that  woman  over  yon 
der." 

"  Look  at  me,  Susan.  Didn't  I  promise  your  ma  on  her 
dyin'  bed  I'd  take  keer  o'  Maly  ?"  Mr.  Blount  spoke  sol 
emnly,  as  if  he  were  in  the  very  presence  of  the  dead.  "  To 
the  best  of  my  ricollections  I  did  make  her  that  very  prom 
ise,  and  I'm  a-goin'  to  keep  it." 

"  And  what  about  poor  Mrs.  Truitt  ?  Have  you  gone 
and  fooled  her,  pa?" 

"  Not  so  bad  but  what  Williamson  '11  make  it  all  right 
and  straight  next  Chuseday  night." 

44  What !"  screamed  Susan. 


BRIEF    EMBARRASSMENT    OF    MR.  IVERSON    BLOUNT.      57 

"  Yes,  indeed.  I  see  Williamson  could  git  her  ef  lie  only 
knowed  how  to  go  about  it,  and  I  knowed  he  were  a  fool  to 
let  sech  a  chance  slip ;  and  I  teched  him  up,  and  I  teched 
him  up,  tell  I  got  him  agin  me  and  kinder  jealous  o'  me, 
and  he  at  last  pitched  in,  and  the  poor  old  feller  was  jes' 
natchel  'stonished  outer  all  his  senses  when  he  found  that 
he  didn't  have  to  open  his  mouth  but  wunst,  ner  hit  but 
jes'  one  lick." 

"  Well,"  said  Susan,  "  my  solemn  opinion  is  that  this 
world  is  bound  to  come  to  an  end  some  time  or  another. 
Oh,  you  Maly,  you  Maly  !  Do  you  know,  Maly,  that  my 
belief  is  that  my  angel  ma  is  this  minute  a-lookin'  down 
on  you  and  a-smilin'  on  you  ?" 

"  Oh,  you  think  so,  Susan  ?     I  was  afraid  ma's  feelin's— 
And  the  tears  streamed  from  Maly's  eyes. 

"  Certainly.     Certain-fee.     I've  not  a  doubt  about  it." 

And  they  went  again  into  each  other's  arms. 

"  Susan,"  said  Maly,  between  her  sobs,  "  I  wanted  all  the 
time  to  tell  you  about  it  all,  but  pa,  he  thought  best — best 
not.  I  hope  you'll  forgive  me,  Susan." 

"Forgive?  Nothing  to  forgive,  you  darlingest  darling, 
but  all  to  be  thankful  for." 

"You  see,  Susan,"  said  Mr.  Blount,  calmly,  "my  feelin's 
was  obleeged  to  be  a  little  hurted  by  you  a-spicionin'  that 
I  had  cler  forgot  how  your  ma's  feelin's  was  hurted  about 
them  geese." 

Then  turning  to  Cullen,  he  said, 

"  Cullen,  she's  yourn,  a-prowidin'  her  and  you  keep  in 
the  idee  of  jindin'  together." 

"  Thanky,  Mr.  Blount,"  said  Cullen. 

"  Thanky,  pa,"  said  Susan.  "  But,  pa,  T  do  want  to  ask 
you  one  question,  and  that  is :  Did  you  ever  think  Cullen 
wanted  Maly  ?" 


58     BRIEF    EMBARRASSMENT    OF    MR.   IVERSON    BLOUNT. 

"  I'll  answer  that,  Susan,  a-prowidin'  that'll  satisfy  you, 
and  you'll  promuss  not  to  ast  no  more.  Will  yon  ?" 

"  I  suppose  I'll  have  to,  pa." 

"  Well,  then,  no,  I  didn't." 

"  Oh,  you  dear  old,  cunnin'  old  pa  !"  She  patted  him  on 
the  forehead  for  a  moment  with  her  finger,  then  flew  con 
secutively  to  the  smoke-house,  the  kitchen,  and  the  pantry, 
in  order  to  have  prepared  a  supper  as  fit  for  the  occasion 
as  the  brief  notice  would  allow. 

"  Hit's  been  now  a'most  forty  year  ago,"  Mr.  Blount, 
when  very  aged,  would  often  say  in  the  midst  of  his  friends 
and  numerous  progeny,  "  ner  nuther  have  me,  ner  nuther 
have  Maly,  been  sorry  for  what  we  done.  You  mind,  I  had 
give  a  promuss  to  a  dyin'  person,  an'  I  were  bound  to  keep 
her.  An'  as  to  how  she  were  to  be  kep',  I  don't  'member 
ner  ricollect,  as  I  never  were  more  nonplushed  in  my  mind, 
ontil  one  day  she  jest  natchell  flashed  all  over  me,  and  that 
all  of  a  snddent.  It  tuck  some  time,  an'  it  tuck  a  heap  o' 
pains,  an'  it  tuck  a  powerful  sight  o'  managin',  for  her  to 
flash  on  to  Maly  the  same  an'  likewise ;  but  when  she  did, 
and  the  child  could  see  whar  her  jooty  p'inted,  she  give  it 
up,  and  she  done  it  fa'r  an'  squar' ;  and  my  believes  is,  and 
allays  has  been,  that  that  were  a  weddin'  that  were  made 
in  heb'n." 


REV.   RAINFORD    GUNN 

AND   THE  ARAB  CHIEF. 


"  And  prove  their  doctrine  orthodox 
By  apostolic  blows  and  knocks." — Hudibras. 

THE  Rev.  Rainford  Gunn  had  a  small  farm,  the  income 
from  which  was  supplemented,  to  a  varying  but  always 
moderate  degree,  by  the  pay  that  he  received  from  the 
two  country  churches  to  which  he  rendered  stated  month 
ly  service.  Admitting  himself  to  be  of  quite  limited  edu 
cation  and  other  advantages  favorable  to  an  eminent  public 
career,  he  contended  that  nobody  could  have  been  taken 
by  greater  surprise  than  himself  when  the  call  came  to  him 
to  preach  the  gospel — a  call,  however,  that  had  been  heard 
too  distinctly  to  admit  of  hesitation  to  heed  it.  His  success 
had  been  beyond  any  expectation.  He  was  a  man  of  good 
presence,  tall  and  erect,  of  excellent  common-sense,  of  sin 
cere  piety,  and  had  acquired  in  time  a  stock  of  words  that 
he  could  employ  with  some  effect. 

Mr.  Gunn's  forte  as  a  preacher  was  not  considered,  even 
by  those  who  admired  him  most,  to  lie  in  the  eloquent  elabo 
ration  of  doctrinal  points,  although  he  would  not  forbear, 
when  he  believed  it  necessary  or  proper,  to  wrangle  with 
the  knottiest ;  and  he  would  generally  emerge  from  the 
scuffle  in  a  plight  that  seemed  reasonably  satisfactory  to 


60   KEV.  KAINFORD  GUNN  AND  THE  ARAB  CHIEF. 

the  brethren.  He  might  have  been,  it  was  probable,  a 
speaker  of  considerable  unction  but  for  a  peculiarity  of 
his  pathos,  which,  when  at  its  highest,  had  to  be  excited 
to  it  by  ire,  instead  of  sympathy  and  compassion. 

"  I  ain't  no  great  hand  at  cryin',  bruthern,"  he  would  say, 
"  'ithout  I  git  mad.  I  don't  often  git  mad,  and  that's  when 
I  start  on  a  cryin'  spell ;  because  cryin,'  ev'y  sence  I  knowed 
myself,  makes  me  mad." 

Yet  more  than  one  revival  had  attended  his  ministry  in 
which  several  men  far  superior  to  him  in  culture  had  been 
brought  into  the  church.  His  modesty,  approximating  hu 
mility,  his  industry  and  his  stanch  integrity,  in  spite  of  his 
homely  phrase,  obtained  for  him  the  respect  of  men  of 
every  degree.  A  devoted  family  man  was  he,  yet  people 
used  to  suspect  that  among  all  his  children,  about  half  a 
dozen  in  number,  he  was  rather  fondest  of  his  daughter 
Lizy  Ann,  who,  at  the  period  told  of  in  this  sketch,  was 
about  nineteen  years  old,  tall,  fair  -  haired,  peachy  cheeked, 
cheery,  industrious,  affectionate,  pious,  and  admitted  to  be 
the  very  best  singer  of  religious  songs  among  all  in  both 
her  father's  congregations.  In  the  last  revival  that  had 
taken  place  in  the  church  nearest  their  home  Lizy  Ann 
Gunn's  voice  in  the  various  singings  was  argued  by  many, 
especially  among  the  younger  men,  to  have  been  very  near 
ly,  if  not  quite,  as  effectual  as  her  father's  preaching  in  the 
ingathering.  More  than  one  or  two,  or,  for  all  I  know,  three 
in  that  class  had  tried  their  hands  to  induce  her  to  change 
her  name,  but  she  had  always  answered  about  thus: 

"  Not  yet.  I'm  not  ready,  quite  yet,  for  such  as  that,  Mr. 
Blank." 

Mr.  Gunn  had  been  in  the  ministry  about  a  dozen  or  so 
years  when  he  received  a  call  from  the  church  at  Raysville, 
a  village  of  a  population  numbering  about  three  hundred, 


REV.  RAINFORD  GUNN  AND  THE  ARAB  CHIEF.    61 

situated  in  an  adjoining  county,  beyond  the  Oconee  river, 
about  ten  miles  distant  from  his  residence.  This  call  was 
almost  as  unexpected  to  him  as  the  original,  for  there  were 
several  wealthy  and  some  considerably  cultivated  persons 
residing  therein  or  in  the  near  neighborhood.  Few  of  this 
class,  however,  were  members  of  any  church,  especially  that 
which  had  sent  an  invitation  to  Mr.  Gunn,  though  they,  as 
was  the  case  with  all  classes,  habitually  attended  the  month 
ly  Sunday  meetings. 

On  this  invitation,  notwithstanding  the  cordiality,  and  he 
might  say  the  liberality  with  which  it  had  been  extended, 
Mr.  Gunn  had  to  ponder  before  accepting,  and  advise  with 
some  of  the  brethren,  and  with  his  family,  especially  Lizy 
Ann  ;  and  I  will  candidly  state  why.  Raysville  had  long 
been  noted  as  an  uncommonly  wicked  town.  They  fought 
chickens  there ;  there  they  raced  horses  ;  there  they  played 
cards,  all  with  impunity,  even  the  last,  which  was  forbidden 
by  the  laws,  but  which  the  solicitor-general  never  could  get 
at,  because  so  many  of  the  Grand  Jury  habitually  practised 
it  themselves.  The  fact  was  that  matters  had  become  so 
discouraging  to  this  officer  and  even  to  the  presiding  judge 
that  for  their  consolation  they  would  occasionally  take  a 
moderate  hand  themselves  in  these  games.  But  that  which 
had  imparted  to  the  town  its  greatest  notoriety  was  the  ex 
istence  of  a  secret  band  of  young  men,  styling  themselves 
Arabs,  who  often  at  night,  after  the  rest  of  the  people  were 
in  bed,  went  about  the  streets  singing  songs,  beating  tin 
pans,  removing  wheels  from  vehicles  and  gates  from  front 
yards,  building  fences  across  the  street  with  rails  taken  from 
contiguous  cattle  pastures,  and  making  such  and  similar 
pranks  specially  marked  in  the  case  of  any  who  were  unusual 
ly  pronounced  in  their  words  of  condemnation.  The  res 
ignation  of  the  late  pastor  of  the  church  was  suspected  to 


62    REV.  RAINFORD  GUNN  AND  THE  AKAB  CHIEF. 

be  due  to  the  fact  that  shortly  theretofore  his  horse,  while 
standing  in  Brother  Mullen's  stable,  had  had  his  tail  shaved. 
Not  only  so,  but  he  had  received  an  anonymous  letter  in 
timating  that  not  only  his  horse  but  himself  would  fare 
worse  if  he  were  not  more  guarded  in  what  he  had  to  say 
in  bis  Sunday  sermons  about  the  behavior  of  certain  persons 
in  the  meeting-house  and  elsewhere. 

Another  matter  Mr.  Gunn  pondered  over  and  counselled 
with  his  friends  and  his  family.  This  was  how  a  plain  coun 
tryman  like  him,  with  his  country  ways  and  country  clothes, 
was  to  get  along  before  a  town  congregation.  Yet,  it  was 
urged  in  the  counsellings  he  held  that  calls  of  that  kind,  the 
same  as  the  first  he  received  to  the  ministry,  come  from 
Heaven.  Then  the  stipend  (for  the  brethren  at  Raysville 
thought  it  almost  certain  that  among  themselves,  with  con 
tributions  from  outsiders,  they  could  count  upon  sixty  or 
seventy  dollars)  was  not  a  thing  to  be  despised  by  a  man 
with  a  family  of  the  size  of  his.  So  he  concluded  to  obey 
this  new,  unexpected  call.  His  country  congregations,  grat 
ified  at  the  Raysville  indorsement  of  their  estimate  of  their 
pastor,  went  so  far  as  to  raise,  extra  of  their  usual  pay,  a 
sum  enough  to  buy  several  yards  of  nice  satinet,  together 
with  thread,  buttons,  lining  and  binding,  and  these  by  the 
deft  hands  of  Mrs.  Gunn  and  Lizy  Ann  were  cut  and  made 
up  into  a  suit  that  everybody  in  the  neighborhood  who  saw 
it  said  was  decent  enough  for  anybody,  not  even  excepting 
the  governor. 

The  meeting  days  of  the  Raysville  church  were  the  third 
Sunday  and  the  day  before.  On  Saturdays  very  few  besides 
the  members  attended  service,  though  there  was  always  a 
sermon  preceding  the  "conference,"  held  for  purposes  of 
discipline  and  general  business.  On  Sundays,  however,  the 
house  was  usually  filled ;  for  chicken-fighters,  horse-racers, 


REV.  RALNFORD  GUNN  AND  THE  ARAB  CHIEF.    63 

card-players,  arid  Arabs  were  near  as  punctual  as  the  best, 
partly  to  see,  be  seen  and  amused,  and  partly  to  show  that 
they,  though  not  professors,  were  as  good  respecters  of  re 
ligion  as  there  was  any  reasonable  need  to  be. 

The  embarrassment  of  the  new  preacher,  on  his  first  Satur 
day's  appearance,  did  him  no  disservice,  for  there  is  some 
thing  always  respectable  in  the  persistent  endeavors  of  a 
single-minded  man  who  is  as  modest  as  he  is  earnest.  All, 
especially  the  older  members,  felt  and  so  expressed  them 
selves,  that  Brother  Gunn's  work  was  destined  to  give  gen 
eral  satisfaction  and  be  productive  of  good. 

That  nio-ht  he  tarried  at  the   house   of  Sister  Aikens. 

O 

This  pious  and  otherwise  excellent  woman,  among  other 
much  chat  about  the  church  and  about  the  village  ways, 
enlarged  upon  the  orgies  of  that "  gang,"  as  she  styled  the 
Arab  club.  It  had  been  started,  she  explained,  by  one  Tom 
Rogers,  a  young  man  of  about  thirty,  who  had  been  brought 
up  in  the  city  of  Augusta  and  had  settled  in  Raysville  two 
years  ago. 

"He's  one  o'  the  desperest  men,  Br'er  Gunn,  anybody 
ever  see.  He  have  some  prop'ty,  and  some  people  say  that 
what  make  him  so  Gallio-like  in  his  ways,  and  set  sech  a  ex 
ample.  He  don't  git  drunk,  and  he  even  don't  play  keards 
like  some,  an'  in  the  daytime  he's  gene'l  tolerable  decent 
in  his  behavior,  though  he's  got  a  tremenjuous  temper;  an' 
anybody  make  him  mad,  there's  a  fuss  and  a  fight,  a-pro- 
widin'  the  man  don't  back  out,  for  he's  a  puffec'  Julus 
Caesar  about  fightin',  an'  they  say  he  can  whip  anybody 
that'll  fight  him,  an'  he  had  the  imperdence  to  tell  Br'er 
Pilcher  that  if  he  weren't  a  preacher  he'd  whip  him  for  what 
he  said  about  the  gang,  though  he  didn't  'peach  that  he 
been  one  of  'em,  nor  that  he  knowed  any  of  'em,  an'  so,  lo 
and  behold !  they  shaved  off  poor  Br'er  Pitcher's  hoss's  tail 


64   REV.  RAINFORD  GUNN  AND  THE  ARAB  CHIEF. 

off,  an'  people  say,  some  of  'em,  that  Tom  Rogers  driv  him 
off.  An'  yet,  if  you'd  believe  me,  Bi*'er  Gunn,  Tom  Rogers 
is  a  perlite  an'  a  obleegin'  sort  o'  feller,  a-notwithstandin'  his 
wildness,  an'  he  give  free  not  only  to  poor  people,  but  he 
put  his  name  liber'l  to  help  paint  an'  new  weather-board 
the  meetin'  house." 

Mr.  Gunn  felt  that  the  situation  was  grave.  He  lay 
awake  that  night  much  beyond  his  usual  hour  after  retir 
ing  to  bed  and  ruminated. 

The  house  on  the  next  day  was  crowded.  The  Arabs 
were  in  unusually  full  force.  Their  purpose,  it  soon  ap 
peared,  was  to  test  the  metal  of  the  new  preacher.  He 
speedily  recognized  many  of  them,  especially  their  leader, 
by  their  inattention  to  his  words,  their  whisperings  and 
giggling  among  themselves,  and  other  unbecoming  behav 
ior.  Such  conduct,  so  unlike  anything  to  which  he  had 
been  accustomed  in  the  simple-minded  people  of  his  coun 
try  congregations,  pained  and  embarrassed  him  much.  Sev 
eral  times  he  remonstrated  in  a  homely  but  not  offensive 
manner  against  what  he  styled  unorderly  behavior  in  some 
of  the  congregation.  The  Arabs  would  suddenly  come  to 
order,  for  a  brief  while  appear  to  be  almost  painfully  at 
tentive  to  the  sermon,  but  upon  a  mute  signal  from  Rogers, 
a  very  stout,  well  dressed,  and  rather  handsome  man,  they 
would  speedily  relapse  into  pranks  so  patent  as  to  be  plain 
ly  indicative  of  their  meaning  to  be  insulting  and  defiant. 

The  confusion  of  the  speaker  at  last  became  such  that 
he  foresaw  that  he  must  cut  short  a  discourse  the  threads 
of  which  he  was  fast  losing.  Stopping  suddenly,  he  cov 
ered  his  eyes  with  his  hands  for  a  few  moments,  then  re 
moving  them,  and  closing  the  great  Bible  before  him,  he 
said,  in  a  tone  which  it  was  evident  that  he  was  striving 
with  much  difficulty  to  control, 


REV.  EAINFORD    GUNN    AND    THE    ARAB    CHIEF.        65 

"  Brotherin  and  sisters  :  I  have  took  charge  of  this  church 
in  the  good  hopes  of  the  doing  of  some  good  in  a  place 
where  it's  mighty  plain  that  some  good  o'  some  kind  is 
monstous  bad  needed  to  be  done  by  somebody.  But  you'll 
have  to  be  disappinted  of  a  sermon  from  me  to-day.  I 
ain't  been  used  to  the  behavior  that's  been  carried  on  'mong 
them  back  benches,  and  I'd  have  to  git  used  to  it,  unless  it 
can  be  stopped,  before  I  can  do  even  what  little  pveachin' 
lays  in  my  power  too  preach.  I  ain't  denying  that  my  feel- 
in's  has  been  hurted,  not  only  as  a  minister  o'  the  blessed 
Gospel,  but  as  one  lone,  singuil,  poor  man  by  his  lone  self. 
And  they'd  of  been  hurted  a  heap  worse  exceptin'  that  I've 
notused  that  some  o'  them  onorderly  people  is  nuthin  but 
boys,  and  is  led  on  in  their  mischief  by  older  heads.  Now 
as  for  me,  I  nater'lly  loves  young  people,  and  special  boys, 
because  they  got  to  be  men  some  time  if  their  lives  is 
spar'd,  and  I've  in  genii  notused  that  when  they're  oncom- 
mon  bad,  it's  because  they're  led  off  by  older  heads  that 
keers  nothin'  for  God,  ner  for  man,  ner  for —  I  come  a 
mighty  nigh  sayin'  for  who  else.  I  ain't  mad,  brotherin  an' 
sisters ;  for  if  I  was  to  git  mad  I  should  go  to  cryin'  first. 
I  ain't  mad,  but  I'm  sorry,  and  I'm  disappinted.  Let  us 
pray." 

This  homely  remonstrance,  delivered  in  tones  that  some 
times  became  tremulous,  impressed  all.  Everybody  looked 
at  Rogers,  some  reproachfully,  others  amusedly,  and  his  fol 
lowers  sympathizingly  and  interrogatively.  He  was  evident 
ly  in  a  rage.  When  the  congregation  was  dismissed,  he 
had  a  brief  conference  with  his  set  at  the  back  door,  after 
which  all  except  himself  went  away. 

The  last  to  leave  the  church  was  the  preacher  and  his 
hostess.  As  they  reached  the  edge  of  the  building  the 
former,  casting  his  eyes  down  the  side  that  now  came 


66    KEY.  KAINFORD  GUNX  AND  THE  ARAB  CHIEF. 

within  view,  saw  Rogers  standing  just  by  the  corner  of 
the  farther  end. 

"  Sister  Aikens,"  he  said,  "  you  go  on  ;  I  want  to  step 
back  a  little  while  in  the  meetin'-house,  and  pray.  I  feel  bad, 
an'  I  jes'  know  that  a  little  prayin'  right  now  '11  help  me. 
You  go  on.  I  sha'n't  keep  your  dinner  a-waitin'  too  long." 

Saying  which,  he  turned  and  went  on  back. 

"I'd  of  some  ruther,"  soliloquized  Sister  Aikens,  "  that 
Br'er  Gnnn  'd  of  come  'long  o'  me.  He  rnout  meet  up  'ith 
that  Tom  Rogers,  an'  he,  mad  as  he  is,  an'  big  man  as  he 
think  hisse'f,  wouldn't  dasn't  to  give  Br'er  Gunn  much  o' 
his  sass  before  me." 

When  Mr.  Gunn  had  entered  the  house,  he  straightway 
ascended  the  steps  of  the  pulpit  and  kneeled,  his  face,  as 
on  occasions  of  public  service,  towards  the  farther  end.  In 
a  very  few  moments  Rogers,  who  had  re-entered  by  the 
back  door,  walked  rapidly  up  the  aisle  through  the  men's 
side,  his  walking -cane  in  hand,  and  when  he  had  gotten 
within  a  few  feet  of  the  pulpit  said,  bluntly, 

"  Wish  to  speak  with  you,  sir." 

"  Can  you  wait  a  few  seconds,  sir,  ontil  I  can  get  through 
with  a—" 

"No,  sir;  right  now,  sir." 

The  preacher  deliberately  rose,  saying  first  audibly  these 
words  : 

"  Now,  'member,  good  Lord,  what  I  ast  you." 

Then  descending  to  the  floor  he  stood  before  his  antago 
nist  and  said,  mildly, 

"Now,  sir." 

"  When  you  was  noratin'  all  that  meanness  an'  foolish 
ness,  sir,  I  want  to  know  who  you  was  a-meaning  it  at,  an' 
if  you  was  a-meaning  it  at  me  ?" 

"  I  shall  first  stick  a  pin  right  thar,  sir,  whar  you  names 


REV.  RAINFORD  GUXN  AND  THE  ARAB  CHIEF.    07 

the  preachin'  o'  the  blessed  Gospel,  er  ruther  the  tryin'  to  do 
it.  You  names  it  meanness  an'  foolishness,  an'  I'll  now  ast 
you  your  name,  although  I  hain't  a  doubt  but  what  it's 
Rogers.  That  so  ?" 

"My  name's  none  o'  your  business,  sir.  Answer  my 
question." 

"  Umph,  humph  !  Well,  you  know,  Mister — Rogers — I'll 
call  you  that  jes'  for  the  sake  o'  the  argiment,  so  to  speak, 
that  when  one  man  astes  a  question,  sometimes  before  he  can 
git  his  answer  he's  liable  to  have  more'n  one  question  ast  of 
him  hisself.  I'll  put  you  another.  Wern't  you  or  wern't 
you  not  the  one  that  chawed  paper  an'  rolled  it  in  a  wad, 
and  looked  at  me,  an'  flipped  it  from  your  fingers,  an'  a 
leetle  more  an'  it  would  have  struck  one  o'  the  female 
persons  o'  the  congregation  ;  an'  done  it  more'n  wunst  at 
that  ?" 

"  I  sha'n't  answer  that  question,  sir,  neither.  None  o' 
your  business,  nor  the  business  o'  no  other  clod  hopping, 
deceitful  old  cuss." 

The  preacher's  eyes  moistened  as  he  said,  in  low,  measured 
tone, 

"  Young  man,  when  I  see  you  a-standin'  out  yonder  at 
one  o'  the  back  cornders,  I  knowed  whut  you  wus  arfter, 
an'  I  let  Sister  Aikens  go'long  on  home  by  herself,  so  as  me 
an'  you  could  settle  it  betwix'  ourselves ;  jes'  you  an'  me, 
us  two." 

Here  Mr.  Gunn  made  a  brief  pause,  in  order,  it  seemed, 
to  snuff  the  air.  Then  he  proceeded  : 

u  I  come  back  in  here  determ'd  in  my  mind  to  ast  yon, 
like  Abner  ast  Asahel,  to  turn  to  the  left,  or  turn  to  the  right, 
anyway  you  choosen,  so  as  to  not  be  a  follerin'  arfter  me ; 
and  I've  jes'  a  minute  ago  made  my  pra'ar  to  Godamighty 
to  not  let  me  cry  'ithout  were  His  will,  an'  ef  it  were  to  let 


68   KEV.  KAINFORD  GUNN  AND  THE  AKAB  CHIEF. 

me  cry  good ;  and,  bless  His  holy  name,  He  have  heerd  rne, 
an'  I  feel  'em  a-comin'." 

They  were,  indeed,  coming  drop  by  drop,  quicker  and 
quicker,  though  his  face  was  wreathed  with  smiles. 

"Now  I  ain't  o'  keerin'  not  so  mighty  much  about  the 
names  you  named  me,  but  did  you  mean  to  say,  sir,  that  the 
preachin'  o'  the  blessed  Gospel  is  meanness  and  foolish 
ness?" 

"  I  did,  you  old—" 

These  were  the  last  words  of  the  chieftain  then  and  there. 
The  preacher  took  a  step  rearward,  doubled  his  fist  and  dealt 
upon  the  assailant's  breast  a  blow  that  prostrated  him  upon 
his  back  at  the  foot  of  the  pulpit.  Snatching  his  cane  as 
he  was  falling,  he  raised  it  aloft. 

"  Now  try  to  rise  if  you  dare,"  cried  Mr.  Gunn,  whose 
eyes  were  floods  of  tears,  "  an'  I'll  scatter  that  pulpit  with 
your  brains." 

"  My  God  !"  cried  Rogers. 

"  Them's  the  words,  sir  ;  them's  the  wery  words.  Before 
I  let  you  up  I'm  goin'  to  make  you  beg  Godamighty's  par 
don;  an'  ef  you  don't  do  it  'ithout,  I'm  goin'  to  git  down  on 
you  an'  choke  you  tell  you  do." 

"  You  got  the  advantage  of  me,  sir." 

"I  know  I  has,  an'  I'm  goin'  to  keep  it.  Come,  sir.  I 
got  no  time  to  tarry  long.  Out  'ith  it!  You  sorry  for 
your  impudence  to  Godamighty  in  His  own  house?  No 
mealy-mouthin'  'bout  it.  Out  'ith  it.  Sorry  or  not  sorry, 
whach  ?" 

The  prostrate  man  looked  up,  and  he  afterwards  declared 
that  if  he  had  ever  seen  the  Bad  man,  it  was  on  that  occa 
sion,  in  the  weeping  eyes  that  were  bent  upon  him. 

"  I'm  sorry,  Mr.  Gunn." 

"  All  right  so  fur,  sir ;  but  tell  me,  now,  is  it  a  godly  sor- 


REV.  RAINFORD  GUNN  AND  THE  ARAB  CHIEF.    69 

row,  or  is  it  you're  sorry  because  you're  knocked  flat  on 
your  back,  an'  ain't  quite  shore  you  ain't  goin'  to  be  beat 
into  sassage  meat  ?" 

"I  —  I  —  I  —  reckon,  Mr.  Gunn,  it's — it's  —  a  —  some  o' 
both." 

"  That's  jes'  what  I  'spicioned.  Howbenever,  I'm  thank 
ful  you  got  on  that  much  gainin'  ground.  Know  the  Lord's 
pra'ar  ?" 

"  Of  course  I  do,  Mr.  Gunn." 

"  Say  it." 

Rogers  hesitated. 

"  Say  it,  I  tell  you." 

"  Won't  you  give  a  man  time  to  think  it  up  ?" 

"  I  thought  you  knowed  it.     Said  you  did." 

"  I  do,  Mr.  Gunn,  but  it's  been  so  long  since — " 

"  Blaze  away,  and  go  as  fur  as  you  ken." 

" '  Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep, 
I  pray—'  " 

"  Stop  it,  sir !"  cried  the  preacher,  with  almost  a  shriek. 
"  Call  that  the  Lord's  pra'ar  ?  My  goodness  of  gracious  of 
merciful  Heavens !  Look  at  me,  Tom  Rogers ;  I  heerd  o' 
you  some  time  back.  You  'n  your  gang  betwixt  you  driv 
Br'er  Pilcher  away  from  the  pastorship  in  this  church,  an' 
shaved  his  horse's  tail  off." 

"  I  didn't,  Mr.  Gunn,  God  knows  I  didn't." 
"  Very  well,  maybe  you  didn't ;  but  you  know  who  done 
it,  and  you  know  you  could  ov  perwented  it.  But  let 
that  go.  You  ain't  goin'  to  shave  my  horse  ner  let  him  be 
shaved.  I  got  no  anexity  on  that  pint  o'  the  case.  But 
now  you  look  at  me.  Look  straight  at  me.  I  ain't  goin' 
to  tell  'bout  this  here  fracus  here  a  perwidin'  I  hear  that 
you've  broke  up  them  Arabs,  as  you  call  yourselves,  or  done 


70        EEV.   KAINFOKD    GDNN    AND    THE    ARAB    CHIEF. 

your  level  best  a-tryin',  and  arfterwards  you'll  try  to  behave 
yourself  when  you  are  in  the  House  of  God." 

Then  drying  his  eyes,  he  continued  with  softening  voice : 
"  Pity,  pity,  pity  !  You've  got  money,  Mr.  Rogers,  and  'they 
tell  me  you're  liberal  with  it.  Sister  Aikens  say  you  put 
down  wery  liberal  to  new  weather-boardin'  and  repaintin' 
this  here  meetin'-house,  and  you  gives  free  to  poor  people 
if  they  don't  cross  you.  I  wonder  you  picked  me  out, 
that's  a  poor  man  hisself,  that  never  done  you  no  harm,  nor 
never  would  of  wished  to  do  you  any  harm,  and  jes'  try  to 
hurt  my  feelin's  when  I'm  a  tryin',  in  a  mighty  poor  way, 
I  acknowledge  that,  to  preach  the  blessed  Gospel.  Has  you 
got  any  parrents  ?" 

It  was  now  time  for  the  Arab  chief  to  shed  a  tear. 
"  My  father  died  when  I  was  a  child,  Mr.  Gunn ;    my 
mother  not  long  before  I  moved  here." 
"  Was  they  Christian  people  ?" 
"  My  mother  was,  sir,  a  very  prayerful  one." 
"  Well,  it's  to  my  hopes  and  my  opinions  that  her  pra'ars 
ain't  to  allays  go  'ithout  a  anser.     Now  git  up  and  go  'bout 
your  business.     I  hope  the  Lord'll  forgive  you.     I  do." 

The  vanquished  man  rose  from  the  floor,  sat  down  upon 
the  front  bench,  and  covering  his  face  with  his  hands, 
sobbed  aloud.  Mr.  Gunn  had  already  turned  and  gotten  as 
far  as  the  door  when,  hearing  the  lamentation,  he  walked 
back,  sat  down  by  the  weeper's  side,  and  taking  one  of  his 
hands  away  from  his  face,  held  it  within  his  own.  And 
then  they  had  a  talk  together,  lasting  full  half  an  hour. 
Sister  Aikens  had  already  grown  uneasy  about  him,  and  es 
pecially  so  when,  going  out  of  her  house  and  looking  tow 
ards  the  church  at  the  end  of  the  street,  she  saw  the  two 
coming  along  side  by  side.  Just  before  reaching  her  gate 
they  parted,  and  Rogers,  who  had  come  some  distance  be- 


REV.  KAINFORD  GUNX  AND  THE  ARAB  CHIEF.    71 

yond  his  own  boarding  -  house,  turned  back  and  repaired 
to  it. 

"  'Pon  my  word,  Brother  Gnnn,  I  were  that  oneasy  about 
you,  an'  'special'  when  I  see  that  Tom  Rogers  along  o' 
you,  that  I — well,  I  didn't  know  what  to  do.  What  did 
the  creetur  have  to  say  ?" 

"Oh,  well,  Sister  Aikens,  we  had  a  little  chat,  an'  I  con- 
winced  him,  I  think,  that  I  were  nigher  right  than  he  were. 
We  quit  friends.  But,  Sister  Aikens,  I  owe  this  people  a 
sermon,  because  they  ain't  no  a-denyin'  of  it,  I  broke  down 
to-day,  an'  I'm  a  man  that  in  giner'l  tries  to  pay  up  as  I  go 
up,  as  the  savin'  is ;  and  I'll  thank  you  to  tell  the  brotherin, 
and  to  let  word  be  sent  around  that  I  shall  preach,  God 
willin',  in  the  church  to-morrow  night,  at.  candle-light." 

He  lingered  only  to  eat  his  dinner,  answering  his  host 
ess's  suggestion  that  she  should  send  for  some  of  the  breth 
ren,  that  it  would  be  near  night  when  he  reached  home,  and 
he  must  have  a  good  rest  after  the  day's  experience.  The 
brethren,  surprised  but  gratified  by  this  mark  of  persistence 
and  fidelity  in  their  new  pastor,  gladly  sent  the  notice  to 
all  in  the  village. 

Some  time  before  sunset  on  the  following  day  Mr. 
Gunn  returned  to  the  same  hospitable  mansion,  but  this 
time  in  his  gig,  and  accompanied  by  his  daughter  Lizy 
Ann. 

"  I  brought  her  'long,  Sister  Aikens,  because  I  wanted  her 
to  see  the  people  that  her  pa  is  to  go  in  and  out  before ; 
and — and  then  Lizy  Ann's  a  right  good  singer  o'  hymes, 
an'  somehow  when  I  can  hear  her  woice  in  the  singin'  it 
'courages  me  up,  an'  so  I  told  her  ma,  if  she  could  spare  her 
for  this  evenin'  and  to-morrow,  to  let  her  come  along  'ith 
me.  She  ain't  goin'  to  give  you  much  trouble,  and  she's 
willin'  to  hep  you  'bo\it  anything  you  want." 


72   KEY.  RAINFORD  GUNN  AND  THE  AKAB  CHIEF. 

"Why,  bless  the  child's  heart!  trouble!  Sher !  I'm 
proud  you  brung  her,  Br'er  Gunn." 

The  house  was  nearly  full  again,  for  the  breakdown  of 
the  preacher  of  the  day  before  had  created  considerable  in 
terest  in  him.  Rogers  had  not  been  seen  on  the  street  the 
whole  day  until  late  in  the  afternoon,  when  he  had  inter 
views  singly  with  quite  a  number  of  his  class,  all  of  whom 
afterwards  attended  the  night  service.  During  the  singing 
of  the  first  hymn  a  voice,  new,  and  of  marvellous  sweetness, 
was  heard,  and  many  turned  to  notice  whence  it  proceeded. 
The  preacher  taking  for  his  text  the  parable  of  the  Prodi 
gal  Son,  spoke  with  a  fluency  and  unction  that  had  not 
been  believed  to  belong  to  him,  and  when  he  was  through, 
to  the  astonishment  of  all,  he  announced  that  while  the 
next  hymn  was  being  sung  he  should  descend  to  the  space 
in  front  of  the  pulpit,  where  he  would  be  glad  to  take  the 
hand  of  any  one  who  might  thus  express  a  desire  for  inter 
est  in  his  prayers  and  those  of  the  brethren  and  sisters. 
As  he  descended  he  said, 

"  Will  the  brotherin  and  sisters  please  sing  "  Come,  hum 
ble  sinner,  in  whose  breast  ?" 

The  first  distich  was  scarcely  sung  when,  from  the  very  last 
bench,  Rogers  rose,  walked  rapidly  along  the  aisle,  gave  his 
hand,  and  weeping  aloud,  laid  his  head  upon  the  preacher's 
shoulder.  Murmurs  rose  into  cries,  into  shouts,  when  in  a 
few  moments  the  Arabs,  by  ones,  by  twos,  by  threes,  then 
sprinklings  even  of  the  chicken-fighters,  the  horse-racers, 
the  card-players  came  rushing  up.  Indeed — but  how  could 
I  describe  that  scene  and  the  great  revival  that  followed? 
Sister  Aikens,  laughing  and  crying  the  while,  used  to  say, 
among  multitudes  of  other  things, 

"  That  first  night,  me  and  Sister  Little,  we  hugged  an' 
hugged,  we  did,  so  that  Sister  Plunkett  used  to  laugh,  an' 


KEY.  RAINFOED  GUNN  AND  THE  ARAB  CHIEF.    73 

say  we  look  the  adzactly  like  we  was  a-wrastlin'.  The  re- 
wival  it  lasted  two  weeks,  an'  we  gethered  in  forty-three. 
an'  which  the  most  of  'em  had  done  been  giv'  up  for  lost. 
An'  as  for  Lizy  Ann's  singin',  if  I  didn't  consate  sometimes 
it  sounded  heb'n-like.  An'  then  to  think  that  nobody  ever 
heerd  o'  that  kyarin'  on  in  the  meetin'-house  betwix  Br'er 
Gunn  and  Br'er  Rogers  ontil  the  night,  six  months  arfter- 
wards,  when  him  an'  Lizy  Ann  was  married,  an'  bless  your 
soul,  you  would  of  laughed  to  hear  Br'er  Rogers  say  how 
skeered  he  was,  special  when  he  found  he  couldn't  even 
say  the  Lord's  pra'ar,  an'  he  weren't  shore  but  what  Br'er 
Gunn,  he  cried  so  and  were  that  mad,  were  a  gwine  to  scat 
ter  his  brains  all  over  the  meetin'-house." 
6 


MARTHA  REID'S  LOVERS. 


"  Call  me  not  fool  till  Heaven  hath  sent  me  fortune." 

As  You  Like  It. 
I. 

IF  Madison  Crowder  was  not  mistaken,  Martha  Reid  was 
the  finest  girl  in  all  the  region  round  about  Ivy's  Bridge. 
Now  Martha  Reid  herself  was  obliged  to  know  that  she 

O 

was  a  fine  girl,  just  as  well  as  Madison  Crowder  did;  for 
although  only  sixteen  years  old,  she  had  heard  from  him 
and  several  other  boys,  and  at  least  one  grown  man,  words 
that  were  very  peremptory  in  the  line  of  the  present  argu 
ment. 

Yet  Madison,  tall,  fair,  stalwart  as  he  was  in  contrast  with 
Martha,  petite,  brunette,  and  slender,  had  little  hope  to  win. 
The  oldest  of  three  boys  —  only  children  of  a  widowed 
mother — he  was  managing  only  tolerably  their  little  farm, 
whereon  was  a  working  force  of  three  or  four  hands  be 
sides  the  white  boys.  People  said  that  Jasper,  the  next 
brother,  was  a  better  farmer  than  he,  who,  as  was  known 
generally,  had  some  ambition  to  be  a  clerk  in  a  store  pre 
paratory  to  becoming  a  merchant,  and  that  it  was  owing 
mainly  to  Jasper's  good  judgment  and  steadiness  of  pur 
pose  that  the  crops  made  were  not  even  smaller.  Still, 
Madison  was  so  polite  in  manners  and  so  obliging  in  all 


75 

neighborly  offices  that  everybody  liked  him  and  wished  him 
well. 

The  Crowders  were  sandwiched  between  two  large  plan 
tations.  The  wife  of  Josiah  Reid  having  died  when  Mar 
tha,  her  only  child,  was  an  infant,  he  had  married  Miss 
Crowder,  an  annt  of  Madison's,  and  everybody  said  that  the 
child  could  not  have  been  reared  more  discreetly  or  affec 
tionately  by  her  own  mother  had  she  lived.  The  father, 
poor  in  his  youth,  had  remained  a  bachelor  until  over  forty. 
A  good  man  in  the  main,  the  too  high  value  that  his  mind 
had  always  set  upon  the  possession  of  property  became 
higher  and  higher  as  his  own  accumulated  and  the  time 
drew  nearer  when  he  must  part  from  it.  He  loved  his 
daughter  dearly,  and  he  was  reasonably  grateful  to  the  wife 
who  had  been  continuously  faithful  to  both  sets  of  her  du 
ties.  He  honestly  believed  that  his  own  career  was  the 
very  best  exemplar  for  poor  young  men  ;  and  the  older  and 
richer  he  grew,  the  more  resolute  his  purpose  that  nobody 
but  a  man  in  possession  or  expectation  of  property  equal  to 
or  approximating  his  own  should  wed  his  daughter.  He 
was  obliged  to  know  that  Madison  Crowder  wanted  her, 
and  whenever  the  youth's  name  was  mentioned  in  the  fam 
ily  his  manner  evinced  the  hostility  that  would  have  been 
much  more  pronounced  but  for  the  young  lover's  relation 
ship  to  his  wife. 

Knowing  old  Mr.  Reid  as  he  did,  Madison  would  never 
have  fallen  in  love  with  Martha  if  he  could  have  helped  him 
self.  But  I  have  noticed  more  times  than  I  could  recall 
that  where  such  a  girl  as  Martha  Reid  is  concerned,  no 
amount  of  sense  or  observation  stops  a  young  man  on  that 
line  of  march.  He  had  never  asked  Martha  if  she  returned 
the  feeling  he  avowed ;  that  is,  not  so  fully  in  words  as  in 
tones  of  his  voice,  looks  of  his  eyes,  manners  of  his  every 


76  MARTHA    REID'S    LOVERS. 

service.  She  treated  him  like  the  rest  of  the  beaux — with 
that  sort  of  politest  cordiality  which  is  most  discouraging 
to  an  ardent  lover.  His  aunt,  to  whom  he  could  not  but 
mention  the  subject  sometimes,  ever  warned  him  against 
the  indulgence  of  hopes  which,  whatever  Martha's  feelings 
might  become  in  time,  could  never  be  compassed  during 
the  life  of  her  father. 

The  plantation  on  the  other  side,  extending  to  the  Ogee- 
chee  River,  and  including  the  store  at  the  bridge,  was  owned 
by  the  Fittens,  mother  and  son,  the  former  apparently  sixty 
and  the  latter  thirty-five  years  of  age,  who,  removing  from 
somewhere  in  South  Carolina,  had  purchased  this  property, 
and  been  resident  thereon  for  five  or  six  years.  The  store, 
built  by  the  former  owner,  had  been  enlarged  somewhat, 
and  being  on  the  highway  leading  from  the  court-house  of 
the  county  to  that  of  the  adjoining  county  east,  and  about 
equidistant  from  both  and  from  Dukesborough,  had  lately 
been  honored  by  having  a  post-office.  The  mother,  a  pale, 
plain,  reticent  woman,  seemed  to  render  to  her  son  entire  sub 
servience,  which  it  was  believed  that  he  exacted  in  return  for 
having  raised  the  family,  as  he  claimed,  from  very  humble 
beginnings  to  its  present  exalted  state.  They  had  a  gang 
of  rather  unlikely  negroes,  with  whom  the  son  ran  the 
plantation,  and  in  spite  of  the  diversity  of  occupations  he 
succeeded  abundantly  at  both. 

Madison  Crowder,  in  all  of  his  dreams  about  a  clerkship, 
had  never  thought  of  Mr.  Fitten  in  that  connection,  for, 
among  other  reasons  that  he  believed  he  had  for  not  liking 
him,  was  an  assurance  of  his  mind  that  his  intention  ever 
since  his  first  removal  to  the  neighborhood  had  been  to 
marry  Martha  Reid  if  he  could.  Within  this  last  year  she 
had  sprang  into  womanhood,  and  there  was  little  doubt 
upon  anybody's  mind  that  at  this  particular  time  Mr.  Fitten 


MARTHA    REID'S    LOVERS.  77 

was  soliciting  her  with  the  full  consent  of  her  father.  Mad 
ison,  therefore,  was  much  surprised  one  day  when  the  mer 
chant,  on  his  way  home  from  Mr.  Reid's,  drew  up  his  horse, 
and  calling  him  from  work  in  his  field,  informed  him  that  he 
had  discharged  the  clerk  he  had  had ;  and  then  he  offered 
to  him  the  position  for  a  wage  that  was  quite  above  what 
the  youth  had  hoped  to  get  at  first  anywhere. 

"Why,  Mr.  Fitten,  I  —  I  never  thought  you  —  I  never 
dreamed  of  such  a  thing." 

"  Ah  !  Somebody  told  me,  leastways  my  'membrance  is 
somebody  told  me,  you  had  a  idee  of  learnin'  to  be  a  mer 
chant,  an'  were  a-tryin'  to  git  a  place  in  a  sto'  in  town. 
Maybe  I  were  mistakened." 

"No,  sir,  you  were  not  mistaken.  I  mean  to  say  that  I 
was  not  expecting  you  to —  I  didn't,  in  fact,  know  that 
you  expected  to  part  with  Will  Evans,  Mr.  Fitten,  and — " 

"  Will's  a  good  boy,  a  good  'nough  boy,  but  I  don't  think 
that  Will  have  the — I'll  say  the  talons  for  to  be  a  merchant. 
\Vhat  I  want  in  my  business,  Madison,  is  for  my  clerk  to 
have  talons  for  the  business,  an'  in  perusin'  around,  my 
mind  have  fell  on  you ;  that  is,  a-powidin'  your  notions  is 
that  way.  Ef  not,  why,  in  co'se." 

"  When  must  I  give  you  my  answer,  Mr.  Fitten  ?" 

"  In  co'se  you  want  to  talk  along  'ith  your  ma,  an'  possi 
ble  your  aunt,  Missis  Reid,  and — well,  we'll  say  four  days, 
or  you  may  make  it  five  if  you  want.  Sa"y  five.  Your 
crop's  laid  by,  you  know,  an'  Jappy,  if  he  git  pressed  in 
getherin'  it,  why,  you  know,  Mad's'n,  we  can  all  help  him 
pull  through." 

After  some  further  conversation,  it  was  agreed  that  by 
the  fifth  day  next  succeeding  Madison  was  to  give  notice  of 
his  decision.  If  such  an  offer  had  come  from  any  other 
source  he  would  have  accepted  eagerly  at  once.  As  it  was, 


78  MARTHA    REID'S    LOVERS. 

the  first  feeling,  as  Mr.  Fitten  rode  away,  was  a  poignant 
pain  at  the  thought  of  assuming  towards  him  a  relation  of 
admitted  subordination.  Yet  for  some  time  past  he  had 
been  almost  without  hope  to  win  Martha  Reid,  for  even  if 
she  should  return  his  feeling — a  result  she  had  never  given 
him  reason  to  expect — he  well  knew  that  she  would  never 
wed  without  her  father's  consent,  and  that  could  never  be 
gotten  for  him — at  least  so  long  as  he  continued  so  poor  in 
the  matter  of  property.  As  for  thanking  the  man  who  had 
just  made  the  offer  to  him,  which  he  ought  to  have  done, 
he  was  very  far  from  that.  Instead,  as  he  went  on  slowly 
to  his  mother,  he  felt  some  resentment,  he  could  scarcely 
have  told  for  what.  His  mother,  after  some  reflection,  said 
that  perhaps  it  was  best  for  him  to  accept.  It  would  be  a 
start  in  the  way  of  his  long-indulged  ambition,  and  if,  upon 
better  acquaintance  with  the  man,  he  should  not  grow  to 
like  him,  he  at  all  events  would  be  learning  the  new  busi 
ness  and  becoming  qualified  for  a  satisfactory  position  else 
where. 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  say  about  it,  Madison,"  said  his 
aunt  on  the  next  day.  "  Me  an'  Marthy  were  both  took  by 
surprise  when  Mr.  Reid  told  us  last  night  that  Mr.  Fitten 
was  going  to  make  you  an  offer." 

"  What  did  Marthy  say,  aunty  ?" 

"  She  said — that  was  when  me  and  her  were  by  ourselves, 
for  she  said  nothing  before  her  pa ;  but  when  he  went  out 
she  said  that  ef  she  was  in  your  place  and  wanted  to  go  to 
clerking,  she'd  believe  she'd  go  farther  from  home.  But 
she  took  that  back  immegiate,  and  she  hasn't  named  your 
name  to  me  sence.  You  know  I've  freckwent  told  you, 
Madison,  to  not  set  your  heart  too  much  on  Marthy,  but  go 
'long  and  do  the  same  as  ef  they  wasn't  no  sech  a  girl.  I 
love  the  child  the  same  as  ef  she  was  my  own  child ;  but 


79 

you  know  as  well  as  I  do  that  in  this  family  Mr.  Reid's 
words  is  the  law.  Your  ma  and  Jappy  think  maybe  it's 
best,  and  maybe  it  is." 

The  interview  with  Martha,  two  days  afterwards,  was 
brief.  Not  that  she  was  wanting  in  cordiality  ;  that  on 
her  part,  though  always  polite,  was  never  very  pronounced; 
but  he  thought  he  could  see  that  she  recognized  the  hum 
bling  inferiority  to  which  the  contemplated  change  was 
already  beginning  to  subject  him.  He  rather  hoped  that 
she  would  mention  the  subject  first.  As  she  did  not,  he 
said, 

"  I've  been  thinking  of  clerking  for  Mr.  Fitten." 

"  So  ma  tells  me." 

"  Yes,  Jappy  can  manage  now  at  home  very  well — better 
than  me,  I  must  say,  an'  I've  been  thinking  for  some  time 
that  I'd  like  to  get  into  some  other  business,  in  town,  or 
Augusta,  or  somewhere." 

"  Yes.  Had  you  made  any  effort  that  way,  Madi 
son  ?" 

"Why,  no;  that  is,  not  much.  I  thought  I  would  this 
fall.  And  so  here  comes  Mr.  Fitten's  offer.  It  took  me 
by  surprise.  For  somehow  I  didn't  think  Mr.  Fitten — 
Well,  the  fact  is,  the  whole  thing  surprised  me." 

She  smiled  so  faintly  that  he  was  sorry  he  had  mentioned 
the  matter.  Then  he  rose. 

"  Are  you  going  ?"  she  asked,  evidently  not  expecting  so 
speedy  a  departure,  yet  as  evidently  not  disappointed. 

**  Well,"  he  soliloquized,  after  leaving  the  house,  "  it's 
hard  to  be  poor.  If  I  had  half,  or  a  third,  or  even  a  quar 
ter  of  the  property  of  that  old  fellow,  he  shouldn't  have 
her.  It's  all  old  man  Reid's  doings  anyhow  ;  but  good-by, 
good-by,  good-by." 

Three  times  he  said  these  last  words ;  and  then,  as  he 


80 


MARTHA    REID'S    LOVERS. 


\ 
"HE    SAW    MARTHA    STANDING    ON    THE    PIAZZA.' 


was  about  to  descend  the  hill,  turning  for  one  more  view 
of  the  mansion  he  had  just  left,  he  saw  Martha  standing  on 
the  piazza  where  he  had  taken  his  leave  of  her.  At  that 
moment  she  also  turned  and  entered  the  house. 


81 


II. 

"  '  N'a-las :  n'an  dad :  h'my  Save-yer  bleed  : 
N'an  dad :  h'my  Sov-ring  d — ' 

Humph !  Dah  boy  done  put  me  out  an'  my  hime  out, 
bofe  un  us." 

Such  conversion  into  spondees  of  the  iambics  of  this 
sweet  old  hymn,  and  such  abrupt  breaking  down  of  the  last 
word  in  the  opening  distich,  need  explanation,  of  course. 

Shortly  after  Madison  Crowder  had  set  in  with  Mr.  Fit- 
ten,  the  latter  had  hired  from  Mr.  Reid,  for  the  purpose  of 
waiting  about  the  house  and  the  store,  a  negro  lad  named 
Isaac,  who,  thouo-h  good  for  little  in  the  field,  was  fond  of 

<5          c5  7 

waiting,  specially  on  white  people.  The  daily  putting  to 
rights  the  store  and  the  shed-room  attached  had  hitherto 
devolved  upon  the  clerk.  But  Mr.  Fitten  said  that  a  young 
man  raised  like  Madison  should  have  a  negro  for  such  work, 
and  as  he  owned  none  exactly  suited  to  the  purpose,  he  of 
fered  for  Isaac  a  price  that  Mr.  Reid,  notwithstanding  some 
humble  remonstrance  of  the  boy's  father,  indorsed  by  Mrs. 
Reid  and  Martha,  accepted.  In  this  new  role  Isaac  delight 
ed,  and  advanced  in  the  arts  of  his  business  to  that  degree 
that  he  was  becoming  somewhat  of  an  aristocrat,  not  only 
among  the  Fitten  negroes,  but  the  rest  in  his  neighborhood. 
The  store  was  on  the  first  rise  from  the  bridge,  and  tho 
mansion  on  the  second,  about  three  hundred  yards  distant. 
Isaac  waited  on  both. 

On  the  occasion  of  his  first  visit  home,  Greene,  his  fa 
ther  (it  was  a  Sunday  morning),  was  sitting  before  his 
cabin  door,  under  the  shade  of  a  mulberry,  his  Bible  in  his 
lap,  and  the  hymn-book  "  Mercer's  Cluster  "  lying  on  a  stool 
by  his  side.  He  let  his  son  pass  with  only  a  simple  saluta 
tion  into  the  cabin,  and  about  an  hour  afterwards  called  to 


82 


MARTHA    REID'S    LOVERS. 


UHE    WAS    BECOMING    SOMEWHAT    OF    AN    ARISTOCRAT." 

him,  "  You  Izik,  I  speck  by  dis  time  your  mammy  an'  dem 
got  'nough  er  your  qual'ty  talk ;  en'  ef  dey  is,  step  out 
bere,  en'  less  me  'n'  you  swap  a  few  words." 

He  looked  at  bis  son's  well-carded  bead,  his  white  not 
overworn  shirt,  and  other  evidences  of  his  rise. 

"  'Spected  you  las'  Sunday.  Leastways  your  mammy 
did.  Whyn't  you  come  ?" 

"  I  were  dat  busy,  daddy,  I  couldn't.  You  know  I  has 
to  'tend  to  de  house  en'  de  sto',  bofe." 

"  Ah,  well,  den ;  ef  dey  needs  you,  your  business  to  be 
on  ban'  at  all  times.  Whar  you  git  dat  sto'  shirt?" 


MARTHA    REID'S    LOVERS.  83 

"  Mis'  Fitt'n  gin  it  to  me." 

"  How  you  gitt'n'  on,  anyhow  ?  an'  how  Marse  Mad's'n 
gitt'n  'on  ?" 

"  Oh,  jes'  splendid,  daddy." 
"  Who  splendid  ?" 

"  Why,  Marse  Mad's'n.  Mis'  Fitt'n  praise  him  'way  up 
yonder,  en'  so  do  his  ma.  Dat  ter  young  man  he  wait  on 
hisself,  but  now  I  waits  on  Marse  Mad's'n." 

"  Umph  !  humph  !  Ant'ny  en'  Neel  tole  your  mammy 
las'  week  dat  when  dey  seed  you,  as  dey  was  a-comin'  fum 
de  mill,  you  wuz  a-braggin'  what  fine  qual'ty  victuals  dey 
feeds  you  on,  en'  how  big  you  is  in  genii  'mong  dem  Fitt'n 
niggers." 

"  I  jes'  a-runnin'  on  wid  dem  boys,  daddy." 
"  Jes'  runnin'  on  ?    Den  dey  don't  pomper  you  so  mons'- 
ous  pow'ful  ?     As  for  dem  Fitt'n  niggers,  dey  show  fer  dey- 
selves;  dey  ain't  fed  like  marster's  niggers.     But  you  does 
look  fat  en'  greazy,  so  to  speak." 

"  I  waits  'bout  de  house,  en'  in  co'se  I  gits  de  moest 
plenty." 

"Umph!  humph!  En'  dey  trusses  you  to  sweep  up  de 
sto',  does  dey  ?  Well,  now,  sir,  you  be  mons'ous  pittickler, 
en'  de  furder  white  folks  trusses  you,  de  pitticklererer  you 
git,  en'  don't  you  let  nothin'  stick  to  you  dar." 

"  Daddy,  I  wa'n't  fotch  up  to  steal ;  you  V  mammy— 
"  Let  'lone  me  V  your  mammy.  Don't  you  'pen'  on 
fetchin'  up.  You  'pen'  on  ketchin'  de  cowhide,  en'  mars- 
ter  bein'  broke  up  payin'  you  out  o'  jail,  en'  den  my  takin' 
whut  hide  de  sheyrff  en'  de  ter  white  people  leff  on  your 
back.  You  ken  go  'long  now.  When  dey  ken  spar'  you 
uv  a  Sunday  like,  I  want  you  come  home.  Not  as  I  can't 
eat  my  'lowance  o'  victuals  fer  grievin'  atter  you,  but  your 
mammy  want  to  see  you  sometimes,  en'  I  wants  to  hear 


84 

how  you  gitt'n'  'long  en'  behavin'  yourself  to  white  en' 
black.  When  you  git  back,  'member  my  'spects  to  your 
Marse  Mad's'n." 

"  En'  Mis'  Fitt'n  too,  daddy  ?" 

"  No ;  I  got  nothin'  to  do  'long  Miss  Fitt'n,  en'  I  got  no 
use  fer  white  folks  what  pompers  ter  people's  niggers  agin 
dey  own.  Go  'long  off  wid  you." 

It  was  here  that  old  Greene,  as  above  recorded,  failed  in 
his  musical  endeavor. 

Several  weeks  passed.  The  mouth  of  Mr.  Fitten,  espe 
cially  when  at  the  Reids',  where  he  now  visited  frequently, 
had  been  for  a  while  full  of  praise  of  the  new  clerk.  If  it 
had  been  less  so  of  late,  this  might  be  attributed  to  the 
theme  having  gradually  become  trite.  Madison  now  seldom 
visited  there.  What  he  had  come  to  recognize  as  hopeless, 
with  the  strength  of  youth  he  had  ceased  to  pursue.  But 
now  he  was  seized  with  a  too  ardent  desire  to  get  money. 
The  contemplation  of  what  such  a  man  as  Mr.  Fitten,  whose 
coarseness  and  ill -breeding  he  exaggerated,  could  accom 
plish  by  the  possession  of  money,  and  of  what  such  another 
as  he  considered  himself  must  fail  to  obtain  for  the  want 
of  it,  induced  a  resolution  to  get  money  at  the  sacrifice  of 
some  things  which  heretofore  he  had  held  much  more  dear. 
Disguising  the  disgust,  the  full  extent  of  which  he  must 
have  been  aware  that  he  had  no  right  to  indulge,  he  yet 
went  diligently  to  all  his  work,  and  discharged  it  to  the  full 
satisfaction  of  his  employer.  If  the  latter  penetrated  his 
disguise,  he  yet  persisted  in  the  confidence  he  bestowed, 
and  it  seemed,  if  not  to  Madison,  at  least  to  his  friends,  as 
if  he  was  trying  by  kindness  to  overcome  a  repulsion  which 
he  could  not  but  recognize  in  the  circumstances  to  be  nat 
ural.  Madison  could  hardly  have  said  himself  whether  it 
was  with  pain  or  a  sort  of  pleasure  that  he  noticed  the  want 


85 

of  affection  between  Mr.  Fitten  and  his  mother,  so  thin, 
pale,  and  apparently  so  unhealthy,  who  seemed  as  though 
she  had  suffered  many  griefs,  but  had  not  lost  thereby,  as 
he  soon  discovered,  either  energy  or  will.  Her  house  was 
decently  kept,  and  the  negroes  were  provided  for  as  hu 
manely  as  the  penuriousness  of  her  son  would  allow ;  more 
so,  indeed,  for  sometimes  secretly  and  sometimes  openly, 
silently  taking  his  rude  complainings,  she  supplied  them 
with  things  that  he  had  refused. 

With  the  instinct  of  one  brought  up  as  Madison  Crowder 
was,  he  treated  this  woman  with  every  becoming  deference, 
that  orew  to  be  more  marked  as  he  noticed  the  indifference 

o 

of  her  son  to  her  feelings  and  general  welfare. 

"  The  old  lady  is  old  and  sickly,"  he  would  say  to  Mad 
ison,  "  an'  them  make  her  fretful  an'  hard  to  please.  I  got 
so  myself  I  done  quit  tryin'  to  please  her,  I  has.  When 
people  git  that  way,  they  ain't  no  tellin'  what's  best  fer  a 
feller  to  do." 

The  woman  received  Madison's  deferential  services  with 
some  apparent  gratitude,  and  sometimes  when  they  hap 
pened  to  be  together  alone  she  would  talk  with  him, 
though  without  allusion  to  her  griefs  or  mention  of  her 
son's  name,  yet  as  if  she  was  beginning  to  feel  an  affection 
for  one  from  whom  kindness  had  come  to  her  unexpected 
ly.  Lately  he  had  observed  that  occasionally,  after  mother 
and  son  had  been  holding  private  conversation,  her  eyes 
seemed  as  if  they  had  been  weeping.  Estrangement  of 
these  men,  gradual  at  first,  became  more  pronounced,  though 
never  leading  to  hostile  words. 

On  several  occasions  the  cash,  though  in  quantities  in 
considerable,  was  found  to  be  short  in  the  till ;  but  both 
agreed  that  in  some  periods  of  omission  on  Madison's  part 
Isaac  had  gotten  the  key  and  taken  it.  Madison  repressed 


86  MARTHA    REID'S    LOVERS. 

as  well  as  he  could  the  indignation  he  felt  in  the  changed 
looks  and  manners  of  his  employer,  meaning,  as  he  believed, 
a  suspicion  that  the  money  had  been  appropriated  by  him 
self.  This  indignation  was  increased  when,  at  the  end  of 
the  year,  on  Madison's  claim  of  additional  wages  for  the 
last  three  months,  which  Mr.  Fitten  in  the  beginning  had 
partially  promised  in  case  his  services  should  increase  in 
value  as  expected,  the  merchant  refused  to  allow  it. 

"Never  mind,  sir,"  said  Madison,  soliloquizing,  but  aloud, 
as  Mr.  Fitten  went  out  by  the  door  leading  into  the  shed- 
room,  "  I'll  be  even  with  you  yet." 

A  few  minutes  afterwards  Mr.  Fitten,  who  he  supposed 
had  gone  to  the  mansion,  appeared  at  the  front  piazza  steps, 
and  calling,  said,  in  a  tone  of  entire  confidence  and  friendli 
ness,  "Mad's'n,  I  spected  a  letter  from  Stovall  and  Simmons 
this  mornin'  'bout  buy  in'  some  wool  fer  'em.  None  nuver 
come,  did  they  ?" 

"If  any  had  come  I  should  have  told  you  of  it,  Mr. 
Fitten." 

"  So  I  knowed,  'ithout  you'd  a-forgot  it.  Nuver  mind : 
it'll  come  to-morrow,  I  reckin."  Then  he  turned  again  and 
proceeded  to  the  house. 

The  mail,  carried  by  a  boy  on  horseback,  came  shortly 
after  breakfast,  and  was  usually  opened  by  Madison,  who  was 
wont  to  be  at  the  store  before  his  employer.  On  several  of 
the  following  mornings  Mr.  Fitten  received  the  bag  himself. 
Madison  did  not  ask  if  the  expected  letter  had  come.  In 
deed,  none  except  necessary,  and  that  the  briefest,  conver 
sation  was  now  held  between  the  two.  A  sense  of  fear,  a 
sense  also  of  something  like  that  of  the  losing  of  manhood, 
took  possession  of  Madison.  So  a  few  days  afterwards  he 
said,  abruptly,  to  his  employer,  "  Mr.  Fitten,  I  think  we  bet 
ter  part,  sir." 


87 

"Don't  know  but  what  you're  right,  Mad's'n.  Things 
here  haven't  been  goin'  to  suit  me  lately  somehow.  I  made 
up  my  mind  to  send  Izik  back  to  his  marster,  an'  by  good 
rights  they  ought  to  be  a  investigashin  o'  some  few  things 
befo'  us  all  parts.  All  right — all  right :  people  lives  in  the 
world  to  larn  an'  meet  up  with  dis'p'intments.  Tommy 
Wheeler  want  a  place.  Wonder  how  he'd  suit?  I'll  step 
over  to  his  mother's  house  to-night  an'  have  a  chat  with 
her  V  him." 

This  was  a  Monday  evening.  Madison  had  been  at  his 
mother's  the  day  before,  and  while  there  she  said  to  him 
that  he  owed  it  both  to  Mr.  Fitten  and  himself  not  to  stay 
there  with  the  feelings  which  he  admitted  to  entertain  tow 
ards  him.  After  supper,  before  returning  to  the  store,  he 
lingered  a  short  time  with  Mrs.  Fitten,  her  son  having  gone 
to  the  Wheelers'.  Her  manner  seemed  more  than  ever  soft 
and  affectionate. 

"  I  just  as  well  tell  you  good-by  to-night,  Madison,"  she 
said,  with  a  trembling  voice,  as  he  rose  to  go.  "  I  mayn't 
be  to  breakfast  in  the  morning,  as  I  feel  now  so  bad.  Good- 
by — good-by.  You've  been  a  great  deal  to  me  since  you've 
been  here,  and  I  sha'n't  forget  you.  May  God  A'mighty 
bless  you,  Madison  ?" 

With  eyes  overflowing  she  turned  from  the  steps,  whith 
er  she  had  followed  him,  and  going  to  her  chamber,  knelt 
by  her  bed  and  sobbed  aloud. 

"Mistiss,"  said  her  woman,  Rachel,  of  about  her  age,  then 
coming  into  the  room,  "  for  de  Lord's  sake  git  up  an'  stop 
some  o'  dah  cryin'.  Look  like  you  gwine  grieve  yourself  to 
death  'bout  dah  boy." 

"  Oh,  Rachel  !  Rachel !"  she  said,  suffering  herself  to  be 
raised  up,  "  you  don't  know  all  he's  been  to  me.  Help  me 
to  bed." 


88  MAETHA    KEID'S    LOVERS. 

III. 

Half  an  hour  before  breakfast-time  next  morning,  while 
Madison  was  arranging  his  clothes  in  his  trunk,  and  Isaac 
was  chopping  wood  preparatory  to  making  a  fire  in  the 
stove,  Mr.  Fitten,  accompanied  by  young  Wheeler,  whose 
service  he  had  engaged  the  night  previous,  came.  Pro 
ceeding  into  the  store,  he  called  Madison,  and  in  a  low  tone 
said,  "  Mad's'n,  I  wouldn't  of  thought  you'd  of  done  what 
you  done  about  the  deffernce  betwix'  us.  Our  ric'lections 
was  deffernt  'bout  my  raisin'  o'  your  wages;  but  I  were  de 
termined  to  let  you  have  it  your  way  ruther'n  have  feelin's 
too  bad  hurted  ;  but  you  oughtn't  to  of  tuck  it  jes'  so." 

His  manner  was  compounded  of  the  mildly  complaining 
and  the  kindly  admonitory. 

"  I  don't  understand  you,  Mr.  Fitten,"  answered  Madi 
son,  turning  pale. 

"  Not  so  loud.  Look  at  that  Izik  picked  out  the  fire  in 
the  shed-room." 

Madison  took  the  paper,  which  was  a  half-consumed  let 
ter.  Enough  was  left  undestroyed  to  see  that  it  had  been 
sent  from  Stovall  and  Simmons,  and  purported  to  enclose 
a  fifty-dollar  note,  which  the  writers  had  marked  so  as  to 
identify  it  if  lost  or  stolen.  The  young  man  shuddered. 

"  That  negro  lies,  sir." 

"  You  Ike,"  called  Mr.  Fitten,  "  come  here.  Now  you, 
sir,  put  down  that  axe,  go  to  the  house,  bundle  up  your 
rags,  take  yourself  home,  and  tell  your  marster  I  sent  you 
for  stealin'  fifty  dollars,  an'  then  tryin'  to  lay  it  on  a  white 
man." 

"  For  de  Lord's  sake,  Mis'  Fitten,"  cried  the  negro,  "  kill 
me  ef  you  V  Marse  MadYn  wanter,  but  don't  sen'  me  home 
wid  dat  messeno-e.  For  ef  marster  don't  kill  me,  daddv  will. 


MARTHA   REID'S   LOVERS. 


89 


"LOOK    AT    THAT    IZIK    PICKED    OUT    THE    KIRK." 


Marse  Mad's'n  been  'cusin'  me  to  you  a-cons'ant.  But  he 
know  I  nuver  got  dat  money,  en'  he  know  whar  'tis  dis 
minute." 

"  You  lying  scoundrel !" 

As  he  started  towards  him  the  latter  took  to  his  heels. 
7 


90  MARTHA    REID'S    LOVERS. 

"  Mis-ter  Fitten,"  said  he,  "  I  don't  understand  this  busi 
ness.  I've  packed  ray  things  in  my  trunk,  except  what  I 
have  on  iny  back ;  but  come  in  here  and  I'll  take  them  out, 
and  we'll  search  this  place  through  and  through." 

I  pass  over  this  painful  scene,  during  the  search  and  af 
ter,  when  the  money  was  found  carefully  concealed  beneath 
the  paper  with  which  the  bottom  was  lined,  the  angry  dis 
may  of  the  unhappy  youth,  the  vast  but  unpainful  surprise 
of  young  Wheeler,  the  contemptuous  pity  of  Mr.  Fitten. 
Laying  the  note  calmly  on  the  table,  he  said,  "Tommy, 
now  don't  you  make  no  blowin'  horn  o'  sech  a  little  mat 
ter.  Mad's'n  thought — he  honestly  thought  I  owed  him 
the  money.  That's  all  right,  Mad's'n.  We'll  quit  even. 
Keep  the  money." 

Madison  gave  bewildered  looks  at  the  money,  at  Tommy 
Wheeler,  at  Mr.  Fitten.  He  seemed  as  one  just  awakened 
from  a  dreamful  sleep.  Suddenly  he  said,  "  Good-by,  Tom," 
then  immediately  went  from  the  place. 

"  I'd  'a'  nuver  b'lieved  it,"  said  the  new  clerk.  "  I  knowed 
he  were  proud,  an'  had  a  mons'ous  ambition  for  money, 
but  I'd  of  nuver  of  b'lieved  that  of  him." 

"  Now,  Tommy,  whatever  you  do,  don't  you  peach  about 
this  business,  an'  'member  I  'cused  Mad's'n  Crovvder  o' 
nothin' — 'member  that." 

Profound  as  appeared  Mr.  Fitten's  regret  for  the  disap 
pointment  of  his  hopes  regarding  Madison,  there  is  little 
doubt  that  he  had  some  of  the  satisfaction  that  such  a  lover 
must  feel  in  view  of  the  ruin  of  one  who  would  have  been, 
if  he  had  dared,  his  rival.  Then  there  was  the  consolation 
that  Isaac  had  cleared  himself  of  the  suspicions  that  had 
been  put  upon  him.  For  he  would  not  have  been  willing, 
related  as  he  was  to  the  Reids,  to  have  any  enemy,  of  what 
ever  rank,  in  that  household.  Only  a  few  weeks  before 


MARTHA   REID'S   LOVERS.  91 

he  had  addressed  Martha  through  her  father,  and  though 
she  had  asked  time  for  consideration  of  his  offer,  he  knew 
that  her  father  was  his  constant  advocate,  and  he  hoped 
that  whatever  partiality  Martha  might  have  had  for  Madi 
son  would  now  disappear.  Upon  the  whole,  therefore,  he 
was  not  sure  but  that  he  ought  to  be  gratified  rather  than 
troubled  by  his  miscalculations.  Isaac  was  more  than  re 
stored  to  favor.  The  very  next  Sunday  a  negro  on  a  neigh 
boring  plantation,  returning  from  a  meeting  some  miles  on 
the  other  side  of  the  river,  reported  that  he  had  met  him 
there  with  a  brand-new  suit  of  store  clothes — coat,  breeches, 
hat,  shoes,  and,  bless  your  soul,  a  striped  waistcoat ;  not 
only  so,  but  that  he  was  perfumed  all  over  with  cinnamon. 

A  matter  so  grave  could  not  be  concealed.  Mrs.  Crow- 
der,  notwithstanding  her  son's  avowal  of  innocence,  remem 
bering  his  dislike  and  his  threats  towards  his  employer,  had 
doubts  so  apparent  that  he  talked  as  if  he  would  go  off  and 
never  return.  It  was  several  days  before  he  had  the  heart 
to  go  to  his  aunt,  and  when  he  went  did  not  ask  for  Martha, 
and  hoped  that  he  would  not  even  see  her.  To  his  great 
relief  he  found  that  Mrs.  Reid,  who  had  heard  the  news 
that  very  afternoon,  expressed  full  confidence  in  his  integ 
rity. 

"  Madison,"  she  said,  "  Greene  don't  have  even  an  idea, 
so  he  says,  but  what  Isaac  took  that  money,  and  getting 
scared  about  it,  put  it  in  your  trunk,  and  he  says  if  God 
spares  his  life  he  means  to  find  out  the  truth." 

They  had  been  together  but  for  a  short  while  when 
Martha,  opening  the  door  without  knocking,  entered  the 
room.  Her  step  was  firm,  but  her  face  was  crimson. 

"  Madison,"  she  said,  without  extending  her  hand,  or 
making  other  salutation,  "  you  told  me  several  times  before 
you  went  to  Mr.  Fitten's  that  you  loved  me.  Is  the  fact 


92  MARTHA    REID'S   LOVERS. 

of  your  ceasing  to  come  here  owing  to  that  of  your  finding 
that  you  were  mistaken  in  the  feeling  you  thought  you 
had,  or  that  it  is  gone  ?" 

Her  lower  jaw  trembled,  and  her  eyes  were  fastened  upon 
him,  as  he  rose  and  stood  in  silence  before  her.  "  Be 
cause,"  she  continued,  advancing  slowly — "  because  if  either 
of  these  is  not  the  reason,  I  want  to  tell  you  in  the  presence 
of  your  own  aunt,  who  has  been  more  than  a  mother  to 
me,  that  I  did  not  know  how  deeply  I  loved  you  until  I 
saw  your  spirit  breaking  down  under  the  coarse  rule  of  that 
man.  I've  prayed  that  your  connection  with  him  might 
not  hurt  you,  and  I  shall  blame  myself  as  long  as  I  live  for 
not  warning  yon,  as  I  wanted,  and  ought  to  have  done, 
against  him.  Oh,  Madison  !  Madison  1" 

£>he  threw  her  arms  around  his  neck,  pressed  her  cheek  to 
his  for  a  brief  moment,  then  turning,  fled  from  the  room. 

The  next  day,  about  ten  of  the  morning,  Greene  repaired 
to  the  spring  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  and  near  the  road  lead 
ing  towards  the  bridge.  From  the  thicket  near  by  he  cut 
several  young  hickories,  and  seating  himself  on  a  wash- 
bench,  carefully  trimmed  them.  As  the  season  was  not  one 
for  providing  props  for  pea  and  bean  vines,  one  might  have 
surmised  that  he  was  getting  a  supply  of  ox-goads.  In  a 
few  minutes  Isaac,  for  whom,  partly  at  his  suggestion,  his 
master  had  sent,  was  heard  advancing.  As  he  was  about 
to  pass,  "  You  Izik  !"  —  spoken  in  sepulchral  tones  —  was 
heard.  Turning  himself  towards  the  spring,  and  seeing  his 
father,  he  climbed  the  fence  and  went  to  the  spring. 

"Howdy,  daddy?  GittV  steer  -  poles  ?"  he  asked,  with 
an  unconcern  of  manner  that  he  had  not  in  his  mind. 

"  Nuver  you  mind  'bout  whut  I  gittV.  Ole  Marse  Aber- 
hain's  Izik  nuver  axed  him  whut  he  gwine  do  wid  de  sticks 
he  made  him  kyar.  Sposen  you  got  'bove  him,  ef  he  wuz 


MARTHA    REID'S    LOVERS. 


93 


a  white  boy.  Ben  sech  a  stranger  here  lately,  'low'd  maybe 
you  mout  come  dressed  up  in  dern  fine  close  HarrelPs  Ned  tole 
some  un  'em  he  seed  you  in  a  Sunday  at  Elom.  Leas'ways 
I  ben  smellin'  de  cinnimum  on  you  evy  sence  you  got  on 
top  o'  de  fench  dar.  Sposen  you'd  bring  dat  'long  anyhow, 


UYOU    HEERN    TALK    0*  ABERHAM,   HAIN'T    YOU?" 

but  couldn't  'ford  to  w'ar  your  qual'ty  close  jes'  'rnong  jes' 
common  niggers.  Shoulder  dem  poles,  en'  come  'long  wid 
me  in  de  thicket  dar." 

The  boy  had  well  learned  the  terror  of  his  father's  ire, 
and  he  ruminated  rapidly  as  they  advanced  towards  the 
spot  where  they  were  to  stop. 


94 

"  Dar,  now,"  said  Greene,  drawing  a  rope  from  his  pock 
et  ;  "  cross  dem  ban's,  en  drap  down  on  dem  knees." 

"  De  good  Lord,  daddy,  whut  all  dis  'bout  ?  Whut  is  I 
done  ?" 

"  Name  o'  God,  boy,"  answered  the  old  man,  as  he  slowly 
wrapped  the  rope  around  his  wrists,  "  /  don't  know.  Dat 
whut  I  gwine  fin'  out,  er  w'ar  out  every  hick'ry  in  dis  thick 
et  on  your  hide.  En  ef  you  goes  to  hollerin',  as  I  see  you 
gittin'  your  mouf  ready,  111  beat  you  to  death  befo'  marster, 
er  your  mammy,  er  any  un  'em,  ken  git  to  you.  You  heern 
talk  o'  Aberham,  hain't  you  ?  Well,  I'm  him,  en  ef  de 
Lord  '11  gim  me  strenk  in  de  arms,  I'm  gwine  to  fin'  out 
whar  you  got  dem  close,  en  whut  fer." 

Then  he  raised  aloft  with  both  hands  one  of  the  rods. 

"  Fer  God  A' mighty 's  sake,  daddy,  stop,  en'  I'll  tell  you 
de  blessed  troof  !" 

He  lowered  his  arm,  and  ten  minutes  afterwards  father 
and  son  were  walking  leisurely  and  peacefully  together  up 
towards  the  mansion. 

IV. 

In  spite  of  the  delay  of  Martha  Reid's  answer  to  his  pro 
posal,  and  the  unhappy  fall  of  his  late  clerk,  Mr.  Fitten  was 
in  reasonably  good  spirits,  especially  after  the  return  of 
Isaac  with  news  of  how  forbearingly  he  had  been  dealt  with 
at  home  for  the  part  he  had  acted.  The  distress  of  his 
mother,  instead  of  subtracting  from  his  contentment,  added 
to  it,  perhaps ;  for  he  was  resentful  in  contemplation  of  his 
rival's  superior  manners  and  the  grateful  influences  which 
they  had  exerted  upon  her  to  whose  happiness  he  was  so 
selfish  as  to  be  ever  indifferent. 

"  Look  like  you  been  cryin',"  he  said  to  her  on  the  even 
ing  of  the  day  succeeding  that  of  Isaac's  visit  home.  "  Had 


MARTHA    REID'S   LOVERS.  95 

the  right  feelin'  for  your  son,  you'd  be  glad,  instid  o'  goin' 
mopin'  about  because  that  feller's  out  o'  my  sto'." 

"  I  have,  or  I  try  to  have,  the  right  feelings  towards  you 
and  everybody,  William ;  but  I  can't  help  feeling  as  I  do 
about  a  boy  that  was  as  respectful  and  as  kind  to  me  as 
Madison  Crowder  was,  going  away  as  he  did  ;  and  to  my 
opinion,  William,  that  case  is  going  to  make  more  trouble 
than  you've  been  counting  on." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  he  asked,  angrily. 

"  I  mean  that  if  Madison  Crowder  is  not  guilty,  or  if  he 
says  he's  not  guilty,  of  stealing  that  money,  the  end  of  the 
business  has  not  come  yet." 

"  Jes'  like  you.  Always  a-prophesyin',  an'  'special'  agin 
me.  Nobody  ever  'cused  him  o'  stealin'  of  it.  The  money 
were  found  in  his  trunk,  an'  Tommy  Wheeler  '11  b'ar  wit 
ness  that  I  nuver  opened  my  mouth  with  the  word  stealing 
ner  nothin'  like  it,  an'  I've  nuver  told  not  a  human,  except- 
in'  o'  you,  that  he  did  steal  it.  His  actions  speaks  louder  'n 
my  words,  even  ef  I'd  a-said  'em,  which  I  didn't." 

"  Ah,  well,  William,  we'll  see.  That  family  of  people  is 
poor,  but  they're  proud,  and  they've  got  connections  that 
have  money.  That  young  lawyer,  James  Mobley,  that  they 
all  say  is  the  fastest  rising  young  man  in  all  this  part  of 
Georgia,  is  kin  to  him.  You  didn't  know  that,  did  you  ?" 

"No,  I  didn't.  What's  that  got  to  do  with  it?"  He 
asked  this  defiantly,  but  his  face  discovered  anxiety. 

"/  don't  know,  William — /  don't  know.  But  if  he 
thinks  there's  a  fly  in  the  lock,  he'll  try  hard  to  find  it.  I 
got  nothing  more  to  say." 

She  rose  and  went  to  her  chamber. 

On  the  next  day,  an  hour  before  sunset,  the  afternoon, 
though  in  the  midst  of  winter,  being  balmy,  Mr.  Fitten  was 
sitting  on  the  piazza  of  his  store.  He  was  in  such  deep 


96  MARTHA    REID'S    LOVERS. 

meditation  that  he  did  not  observe  that  a  horseman  had 
ridden  to  one  of  the  racks,  hitched  his  beast,  and  alighted. 
Hearing  advancing  footsteps,  he  started,  and  the  more  visi 
bly  when  he  discovered  that  the  comer  was  Mr.  Triplett,  the 
vsheriff  of  the  county.  Ascending  the  steps  slowly,  as  was 
his  fashion,  the  latter,  saluting  in  friendly  words  Mr.  Fitten, 
took  the  offered  chair,  and  said,  "  Fine  weather  for  breakin' 
up  ground  an'  mendin'  o'  fences,  Mr.  Fitten." 

The  merchant  looked  at  the  officer  as  if  he  knew  just  as 
well  as  he  did  that  the  state  of  the  weather  or  plantation- 
work  was  not  the  matter  to  which  he  owed  the  honor  of 
this  visit. 

"  I've  got  a  paper  for  you,  Mr.  Fitten." 
'  The  paleness  on  the  man's  face  at  the  mention  of  the 
paper  deepened  into  that  of  the  dead  when  he  read  on  the 
back  the  statement, 

"Madison  Crowder,  by  his  next  friend,  William  Mobley, 
v.  William  Fitten.  Case,  etc." 

"  Mis-ter  Triplett,"  said  he,appealingly,"  what  do  it  mean?" 

"  I  know  nothin'  about  it  only  what  I  heerd  the  clerk  an' 
Squire  Mobley  say,  Mr.  Fitten." 

"  /  nuver  done  nothin'  to  MadYn  Crowder  to  be  harasted 
an'  tried  to  make  pay  money  for.  Whut  did  Squire  Mob- 
ley  say  ?  Like  to  know  what  he  know  about  the  case 
more'n  I  know,  an'  rnore'n  Tommy  Wheeler  know,  an' 
which  he's  back  thar  in  the  sto',  an'  I'll  call  him  out  here, 
an'  you  may  ask  him." 

"  Needn't  do  that,  Mr.  Fitten,"  answered  Mr.  Triplett, 
kindly.  "  I  got  nothin'  'tall  to  do  'ith  the  case  exceptin'  to 
serve  the  papers  that's  give  me  to  serve." 

"  What  did  Squire  Mobley  say  ?" 

"  Well,  now,  I  ain't  a  man  that  make  a  practice  o'  totin' 


MR.  TRIPLETT,  THE    SHERIFF    OF   THE    COUNTY. 


MARTHA    REID'S    LOVERS.  99 

news,  onlest  it's  that  that's  good.  But  Squire  Mobley  say 
the  case  are  a  bad  one,  an'  he  got  it  dead  on  you,  an'  he 
told  me  I  mout  tell  you  so." 

"  Uraph  !  humph!"  —  with  quasi  contempt.  "Want,  I 
s'pose,  two  hunderd,  er  maybe  three  hunderd,  dollars,  an' 
him  take  half  of  it  fer  his  fee." 

"  Ef  you'll  read  the  writ,  Mr.  Fitten,  to  the  eend,  you'll 
see  that  the  damidge  ain't  laid  at  nary  one  o'  them  iiggers." 

He  read,  in  a  low,  mumbling  tone,  as  far  as  through  the 
words  "  to  the  damage  of  your  petitioner  of,"  when  he  al 
most  screamed,  "  ten  thousand  dollars  /"  and  it  was  pitiful 
to  see  his  dismay. 

"  Did  that — did  that  lawyer  tell  you,  Mr.  Triplett,  that  he 
spected  to  make  me  pay  sich — sich  a  damidge,  or  the — or 
the  hundith  part  of  it  ?" 

"  Well,  now,  Mr.  Fitten,  Squire  Mobley  told  me  that  ef 
you  ast  me,  to  tell  you  that  he  have  tried  to  'bout  size  your 
pile,  an'  he  have  laid  the  damidge  to  jes'  about  kiver  it. 
William  Mobley's  a  ter'ble  feller  in  the  cote-house,  young 
as  he  is,  an'  they  ain't  none  o'  them  big  lawyers  ken  turn 
him  down  when  his  dander's  up,  as  it  are  now,  Madison 
a-bein'  o'  his  kin.  It  seem  to  me,  though  'tain't  none  o' 
my  business,  but  it  seem  to  me  that  ef  I  were  sued  to  that 
figger  o'  darnidges,  I'd — ruther'n  I'd  be  tore  up  in  my  mind, 
an'  have  to  stan'  William  Mobley's  tongue  when  he's  mad 
like  he  are  now— I'd  try  ef  I  couldn't  git  a  compermise, 
Mr.  Fitten." 

"I've  done  nothin',  Mr.  Triplett.  Whar's  his  witnesses? 
I've  done  nothin';  but  I'd  like  to  know  whar's  his  wit 
nesses." 

"  Well,  in  co'se,  Mr.  Fitten,  /  don't  know  ;  but  I  did  hear 
William  say  that  he  spected  to  prove  somethiti1  by  your 
ma." 


100  MARTHA    REID'S    LOVERS. 

"By  ma?" 

"  Yes,  sir ;  bes'  o'  my  riclection  he  said  your  ma." 

A  sense  of  relief  was  evinced  in  Mr.  Fitten's  face.  Yet 
when  the  sheriff  rose  to  leave,  saying  that  he  had  to  go  by 
the  Crowders'  to  carry  a  letter  from  the  lawyer  to  his  client, 
he  sent  a  request  to  Madison  to  come  to  see  him. 

"  Not  as  I  nuver  done  the  young  man  any  harm,  that  is, 
intentnal,  ef  I  knowed  it,  but  I  wouldn't  wish  him  to  be  my 
innimy." 

Immediately  after  supper  the  new  clerk  was  dismissed  to 
the  store,  and  as  soon  as  the  table  was  cleared,  mother  and 
son  sat  down  together  for  a  conversation.  The  former  had 
seen  the  sheriff  as  he  rode  by  the  house  on  his  way  to  the 
Crowders',  and  her  suspicion  of  his  business  became  assur 
ance  when  she  saw  the  perturbed  state  of  her  son's  rnind. 

"  It  hasn't  come  much  sooner  than  I  expected,"  she  said, 
mildly. 

"  Beginnin'  on  your  prophesyin's  ag'in,  eh  ?" 

"  No,  William ;  we're  talking  now  about  some  of  'em 
coming  true.  I  told  you  you'd  hurt  yourself  in  trying  to 
ruin  Madison  Crowder,  and  it  looks  like  you've  done  it." 

"  It's  a  lie.  You  put  that  feller  agin  me,  an'  put  him  up 
to — put  him  agin  me." 

She  did  not  seem  more  excited  than  in  the  beginning. 

"  I'll  be  back  in  a  minute,"  she  said,  rising  and  going  to 
the  back  door,  from  which  she  almost  immediately  returned, 
and  resuming  her  seat,  she  said,  "No,  I've  never  tried  to 
put  that  boy  against  you,  William.  It  was  because  he  was 
so  kind  and  good  to  me  always,  and  so  like  a  gentleman, 
that  I  hoped  he  would  not  fall  into  the  trap  that  I  knew 
you  set  for  him  ;  but  I  never  tried  to  put  him  against  you." 

"  What  trap  you  talkin'  about  ?" 

"The  trap  you  set  for  him  when  you  brought  him  here 


MARTHA  REID'S  i  O'TERS. 

because  you  believed  that  he  stood  between  you  and  Mr. 
Reid's  daughter,  and  who  I  told  you  always  you'd  no  more 
get  than  you'd  pull  down  one  of  the  stars." 

Resentment  and  fear  were  both  plainly  visible  upon  him. 

"You've  been  agin  me  all  my  life  —  agin  your  own 
son." 

"No;  God  knows  I  have  not.  I've  saved  you  before 
now,  as  you  well  know,  from  things  —  not  quite  as  bad  as 
this,  but  bad  enough,  and  I  tried  to  save  you  from  this,  but 
I  couldn't." 

"  Talk  about  makin'  a  man's  own  mother  a  witness  agin 
him  !  You  know  nothin'  'bout  the  case,  an'  ef  you  did,  an' 
ef  they  was  any  case,  which  they  ain't,  an'  you  did  know 
anything,  you  know  you  ain't  a-goin',  an'  no  'oman  that's  a 
mother  an'  got  a  heart  under  her  ribs  ain't  a-goin',  to  the 
cote-'ouse  an'  try  to  ruin  the  onlest  child  she's  got." 

"  William  Fitten,  when  you  brought  that  boy  to  this 
house  I  knew  what  it  was  for,  because  I  know  the  spirit 
that's  been  in  you  ever  since  you  were  born ;  and  I  made 
up  my  mind  that  he  should  not  be  ruined  while  under  my 
roof  if  I  could  help  it,  and  'special'  since  he  showed  to  me  m 
the  time  he  was  here  a  respect  you  never  showed  in  all  your 
lifetime.  I  know  more  about  this  matter  than  you  think ; 
but  I'm  not  going  to  any  court-house  if  I  can  help  it." 

"  I  should  think  not — I  should  think  not." 

He  fastened  his  teeth  together,  and  looked  warningly  at 
her. 

She  returned  his  gaze  calmly.  Many  a  time  before  had 
he  tried  to  frighten  her. 

"  I  said  that  I  was  not  going  there  if  I  could  help  it. 
Suppose  I  can't,  and  then  they  ask  me  to  tell  what  I  do 
know  ?" 

"  You  know  nothin',  an'  you'll  tell  'em  so ;  an'  ef  you  did 


102  *Ml*tTHA    REID'S    LOVERS. 

know  anything  agin  me  you  know  you  daresn't  stand  up 
thar  and  ruin  your  own  son.     You  daresn't  do  it." 

Either  she  did  not  understand  or  she  ignored  the  deadly 
gaze  that  he  bestowed  upon  her. 

"  If  I  am  to  put  my  hand  on  the  Book  of  God,  I  shall 
answer  the  questions  that  are  asked  me  like  I'll  be  glad  to 
remember  when  I  stand  before  the  Judgment.  You  know 
that,  William  Fitten  ;  and  you  know  that  the  fear  of  God 
with  me  is  before  any  other  fear,  no  matter  how  much 
cause  I've  got  to  be  afraid  of  you,  especially  now  when  my 
body  is  broken  down,  like  my  spirit's  always  been." 

She  placed  her  hand  upon  her  forehead,  raised  her  eyes 
upward  for  a  moment,  then  looked  upon  him  with  deepest 
sadness. 

There  is  that  in  maternity  that  to  some  degree  must  awe 
the  most  reprobate  in  filial  love  and  duty.  This  with  her 
solemn  invocation  made  him  lower  his  eyes. 

"  The  thing  for  you  to  do,  William  Fitten,  is  to  try  to 
settle  this  case  without  going  to  court.  Madison  Crowder 
wants  to  get  back  his  name  more  than  he  wants  what  prop 
erty  you've  got.  And  let  me  tell  you  you  can't  settle  it, 
but  I  believe  I  can." 

:   "  How  ?"  he  asked,  eagerly.     "  They  ain't  nothin'  to  set 
tle,  but  how  ?" 

Then,  as  she  paused  before  answering,  he  bethought  to 
hide  his  eagerness,  and  asked,  contemptuously, 

"Didn't  know  you  got  so  smart  in  your  old  age  as  to 
know  how  to  settle  men -folks'  business  better'n  they  do 
theirselves.  You  needn't  be  a-tryin'  to  git  me  to  pay  my 
money,  or  'knowledgin'  I  been  tellin'  o'  lies." 

"  I  think  I  can  settle  it  without  either.  I  must  think  on 
it  to-night.  Til  let  you  know  in  the  morning  what  I  think 
is  best  to  be  done." 


MARTHA    REID'S    LOVERS.  103 

She  rose,  and  in  much  feebleness  retired  to  her  chamber. 

When  his  mother  had  gone,  Mr.  Fitten  went  out  to  the 
kitchen  and  called  for  Isaac,  who  was  not  to  be  found, 
Demanding  of  the  woman  Rachel  where  he  was,  she  an 
swered, 

"  I  'clar',  Marse  William,  I  don't  know  whar  dat  boy 
gone." 

"You  old  devil,  whyn't  you  tell  me  he  wasn't  here?" 

"Marse  William,  I  can't  keep  up  wid  dat  boy.  I  ntwcr 
knowed  but  what  you  sont  him  somewhars." 

"Ma,"  he  asked,  loudly,  at  his  mother's  door,  "that  Izik 
ain't  to  be  found.  Know  whar  he  is?" 

"  Please,  William,  don't  disturb  me  to-night  about  Isaac, 
I  suppose  he's  stepped  over  home.  Let  me  rest  to-night, 
and  I'll  tell  you  in  the  morning  how  I  think  this  matter  can 
be  settled,  and  that  without  your  losing  any  of  your  prop 
erty,  or  anything  else  you've  got." 

He  sat  up  until  a  late  hour,  alternating  between  the  man 
sion  and  kitchen.  Finally,  seeming  to  have  abandoned  hope 
of  the  negro's  return,  he  went  to  bed. 

V. 

The  next  morning  Mr.  Fitten  had  just  risen  from  break 
fast,  to  which  his  mother  had  only  then  seated  herself.  He 
was  walking  on  his  piazza,  pondering  the  continued  absence 
of  Isaac,  when  Mr.  Triplett  rode  up  to  his  gate,  accompanied 
by  Madison  Crowder.  Doubting  how  to  account  for  this 
visit,  yet  strongly  hoping  for  a  satisfactory  settlement,  he 
cordially  invited  the  visitors  to  alight.  When  they  had 
done  so,  and  entered  the  piazza,  Madison  not  having  spoken 
the  while,  the  sheriff,  laying  his  hand  upon  Mr.  Fitten's 
shoulder,  said,  "  I  arrest  you,  Mr.  Fitten,  on  this  summons, 
and  I  has  one  fer  the  old  man  Reid's  nigger  boy  Izik — both 


104 

for  conspurricy.  Mawnin',  Missis  Fitten,"  he  continued,  as 
she  appeared  at  the  door,  pale  and  trembling.  "  IVe  got  a 
suppeny  fer  you,  ma'am."  She  would  have  fallen,  but  that 
Madison  went  to  her  relief,  and  tenderly  seated  her  in  a  chair. 
Her  son  looked  alternately  at  the  three  in  silent. dismay. 

"  Madison,"  said  the  woman,  when  she  had  sufficiently 
recovered,  "  I  was  intending  to  go  to  your  mother's  to-day 
and  try  to  settle  this  case  with  you.  But  that  can't  be  done 
now  except  in  town.  I'll  be  ready  to  go  in  a  few  minutes. 
William,  you  and  Mr.  Triplett  can  ride  on.  Madison,  I 
know,  won't  object  to  going  with  me,  and  I  can  talk  to  him 
by  the  way." 

This  was  arranged.  While  she  was  in  her  chamber  pre 
paring  for  her  departure,  her  son,  having  gotten  leave  to 
enter,  said  to  her  in  tones  just  above  a  whisper,  "  You  mind 
what  you  say  to  these  people,  and  on  that  stand.  You 
mind  /"  And  she  never  forgot  the  look  he  gave. 

The  sheriff  had  reached  the  court-house  with  his  prisoner, 
and  turning  him  over  to  his  deputy,  had  gone  to  the  office 
of  Mr.  Mobley  to  report  this  fact  and  his  inability  to  find 
the  negro  boy  on  the  premises. 

"  All  right,  Triplett.  This  one  will  do  for  the  present. 
Yonder  comes  Madison  with  the  mother." 

The  two  latter  rode  on.  Passing  the  court-house,  they 
alighted  at  the  horse-rack  nearest  the  law-office,  and  pro 
ceeding  at  once  to  it,  entered,  when  Mrs.  Fitten  asked  the 
sheriff  to  bring  her  son  there. 

"  William,"  she  said,  when  all  were  seated,  "  I  sent  for 
you  because  I  wanted  you  to  hear  the  terms  I'm  going  to 
offer  to  Madison." 

The  abundant  tears  that  she  had  been  shedding  during 
the  ride  were  gone  from  her  eyes,  and  she  spoke  with  com 
posure.  Addressing  herself  mainly  to  Mr.  Mobley,  she  said, 


MARTHA    KEID'S    LOVEKS.  105 

"  It  wouldn't  do  any  good  to  tell  you  and  the  others  here 
how  William  Fitten  has  been  doing  ever  since  he  knew  the 
difference  between  right  and  wrong,  nor  how  he's  treated 
me  in  all  this  time.  When  that  boy  there,"  nodding  towards 
Madison,  "  came  into  my  house,  I  soon  saw  that  he  was  one 
of  a  kind  that  any  woman,  if  she  had  any  heart,  would  try 
to  save  from  being  ruined.  And  when  the  child  treated  rne 
with  the  respect,  and  even  with  the  affection,  it  seemed  to 
me,  like  that  he  had  for  his  own  mother,  then  I  determined, 
and  I  made  a  promise  to  God  Almighty  that,  with  His  help, 
he  shouldn't  be.  That  money,"  she  continued,  after  a  brief 
pause,  "  that  was  found  in  Madison's  trunk  was  put  there  by 
William  Fitten." 

"  Ma,"  said  the  prisoner,  rising,  a  fearful  picture  of  wrath 
and  fright,  "  that's  a  d — " 

He  checked  himself  as  the  men  all  rose. 

"  Sit  down,  gentlemen,  sit  down — please  sit  down.  I've 
been  used  to  such  talk  as  that.  Please  sit  down." 

She  kept  beseeching  them  until  they  had  resumed  their 
seats.  Then  she  narrated  in  detail  the  reception  of  the  let 
ter  from  Augusta  by  her  son  several  days  before  his  men 
tion  of  it  to  Madison,  the  boy  Isaac  being  set  against  him 
because  of  being  told  that  Madison  had  avowed  belief  in  his 
dishonesty,  and  the  penetration  of  confidence  between  the 
two  by  the  woman  Rachel,  at  the  instigation  of  her  mistress. 
Then  she  told  how  she  had  sent  off  the  negro  the  night  be 
fore,  as  she  had  intended  to  inform  her  son  on  the  next 
morning  of  her  knowledge  of  their  joint  transactions. 

Haggard,  abject,  yet  with  eyes  fixed  upon  the  speaker, 
the  prisoner  sat  during  this  circumstantial  narration. 

"  And  now,"  she  said,  addressing  herself  to  Madison,  on 
whom  she  tenderly  looked,  "  I'm  going  to  make  an  offer, 
Madison.  I'm  an  old,  sicklv,  friendless  woman,  without  hus- 


106  MARTHA    REID'S   LOVERS. 

band,  without  parents,  without  brothers  or  sisters,  without 
relations,  except  what  are  far  off  in  home  and  in  kin,  and 
without —  I  didn't  tell  you  that  as  I  rode  along  to-day; 
I've  always  thought  until  now  that  I'd  carry  that  with  me 
to  the  grave."  She  blushed,  wrinkled  as  was  her  cheek,  and 
turned  away  from  view  of  the  prisoner,  whom  she  never  saw 
again.  Pointing  her  finger  backward  where  he  sat,  she  said, 
"  When  I  married  his  father  I  knew  that  he  had  been  en 
gaged  to  a  woman  who  was  his  cousin,  but  I  did  not  know 
until  some  months  after  my  marriage,  when  that  woman 
died,  leaving  that  creature  who  is  now  in  the  hands  of  the 
sheriff,  how  far  that  engagement  had  gone.  Shortly  after 
wards  my  husband  died,  begging  me  on  his  death-bed,  and 
getting  my  promise,  to  take  and  raise  his  child." 

The  prisoner  shrank  in  his  chair  aghast,  for  although  he 
had  never  even  dreamed  of  such  a  thing,  he  doubted  not  its 
truth. 

"  Madison,"  she  continued,  after  a  brief  pause,  "  that  poor 
man  has  no  property  except  the  goods  in  the  store,  and  they 
not  all  paid  for.  The  land  we've  been  living  on  was  bought 
with  money  from  selling  part  of  the  negroes  in  the  neigh 
borhood  we  moved  from  the  last  time.  If  you'll  let  him  off 
to  go  clear  away,  I'll  give  him  two  thousand  dollars,  which 
he  knows  is  more  than  his  goods  are  worth,  even  if  they 
were  all  paid  for.  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do  then.  Oh,  Mad 
ison,  Madison,  don't  refuse  my  offer.  I've  always  longed — 
if  I  couldn't  have  somebody  to  love  me — at  least  to  have 
somebody  about  me  that  I  could  love.  For  years  and  years 
I've  prayed  for  direction  what  to  do,  and  somehow  when 
you  came  into  my  house,  and  treated  me  as  you  did,  and  my 
heart  went  out  to  you  as  it  did,  I  felt  a  hope  that  the  good 
Lord  was  going  to  send  the  answer  that  He  had  kept  from 
me  so  long.  Madison,  I  know  I  can't  ask  you  to  take  up 


MARTHA    REID'S    LOVERS.  107 

your  home  altogether  with  a  forlorn  creature  like  me ;  but 
if  you'll  stay  there  part  of  the  time,  and  will  take  the  man 
agement  of  my  business,  I'll  give  you  everything  I've  got, 
and  Til  give  it  now,  and  Mr.  Mobley  may  draw  up  the  pa 
pers,  and  I'll  sign  them  before  I  leave  this  office.  Here's 
the  money  for  William  Fitten,  and  he  may  have  the  horse 
he  rode  here  to-day  besides.  But  he  must  go  away  from 
here.  After  what's  passed,  he  and  I  couldn't  live  in  the 
same  neighborhood.  Oh,  Madison,  Madison,  don't — don't — " 

She  could  say  no  more.  Leaning  her  head  upon  the  ta 
ble  near  which  she  sat,  she  wept  aloud. 

A  few  months  after  the  occurrences  just  related,  Mr. 
Reid,  sitting  in  his  piazza,  looking  after  Madison  Crowder 
as  he  rode  away  from  his  gate,  called  to  his  daughter. 

"  Marthy,"  he  said,  in  the  tone  of  a  man  imparting  dis 
mal  information,  "  I  ain't  shore  in  my  mind  —  in  fac',  I 
hain't  a  idee — that  you  know  that  that  feller  ridin'  off  yon 
der  on  one  o'  Missis  Fitten's  horses  is  other  a  fool,  born  so, 
or  los'  his  mind  for  the  present  time  bein'." 

"  Oh,  pa !  pa  !  have  you  sent  Madison  away  ?" 

"  I  has ;  an'  you  want  to  know  the  reason  why  ?  It's 
because  he's  a  born  fool,  er  a  lunacy,  an'  it  make  no  odds 
which,  an'  not  while  my  head  stays  hot  shall  the  onlest 
child  I've  got  marry  any  one  o'  them  kind  o'  folks.  To 
think  he,  po'  as  he  is,  would  'a'  'fused  that  ole  'oman's  of 
fer  o'  every  blessed  piece  o'  prop'ty  she  have,  an'  work  on 
wages  fer  her,  though  I'm  not  a-denyin'  that  he's  a-manag- 
in'  better'n  I  ever  thought  were  in  him.  Yit  to  ruther 
work  fer  her  on  wages  than  to  take  her  prop'ty,  when  the 
po'  creeter  got  nary  kit,  nor  b'ilin',  nor  generation  o'  kin, 
he — he's  a  fool,  I  tell  you,  er  he's  a  lunacy,  an'  it  make  no 
odds  which." 

"  Pa,  Madison  is  doing  with  Mrs.  Fitten  what  he  believes 
8 


108 


MARTHA    REID'S    LOVERS. 


;  OH,   PA  !     PA  !     HAVE    YOU    SENT    MADISON    AWAY  ?" 


to  be  right,  and  what  I  believe  also.  If  you  refuse  to  let 
me  marry  him,  I'll  marry  nobody." 

"  You  !  you  got  no  more  sense  'n — "  But  he  loved  her 
too  well  to  finish  this  sentence. 

After  that  Madison  seldom  came  to  the  house. 

Greene  was  deeply  concerned  about  the  troubles  of  his 
young  mistress. 

"  Miss  Marthy,"  he  said  to  her  one  day,  "  why  can't 
Marse  Mad's'n,  if  he  'shamed  to  take  all,  why  can't  he  take 


MARTHA    KEID'S    LOVERS.  109 

part  o'  de  prop'ty  de  'oman  want  to  give  him,  en  leave  her 
de  balance  ?" 

"  Oh  no,  Uncle  Greene,  Madison  wouldn't  be  willing  to 
do  that,  and  I  wouldn't  be  willing  for  it  either." 

"  Umph  !  My  sakes  !  De  Lord  bless  my  soul !  Well, 
den,  Miss  Marphy,  couldn't  Marse  Mad's'n — couldn't  he  sort 
o'  let  on  to  marster  dat  de  prop'ty  were  his'n — er  leasways 
a  part  un  it?" 

"  That  would  be  still  worse,  Uncle  Greene.  I'm  sur 
prised  that  a  good  Christian  like  you  should  advise  such  as 
that." 

"  Well,"  he  said,  not  noticing  the  rebuke,  "  ef  de  'oman 
— she  ole  en  'flicted  anyhow — ef  in  co'se  it  was  de  will  o' 
de  Lord — in  co'se  a  body'd  wish  she  mout  go  in  de  triump' 
o'  de  faith — en  den  leave  to  Marse  Mad's'n  whut  she  got — " 

"  Uncle  Greene  !     Uncle  Greene  /" 

"  I  done  wid  yon,  Miss  Marphy." 

Colloquies  similar  to  these  two  last  mentioned  took  place 
at  varying  intervals  during  the  next  two  years,  in  the  which 
Mr.  Reid  grew  more  and  more  strengthened  in  the  belief 
in  Madison  Crowder's  incurable  malady  of  understanding, 
while  old  Greene  revolved  the  tardiness  of  death  among 
those  who  were  as  ready  and  fitted  in  all  respects  to  depart 
as  Mrs.  Fitten.  At  last  one  day,  full  of  peaceful  hope,  she 
expired  in  the  arms  of  him  who  had  been  as  the  son  of  her 
old  age.  Then  William  Mobley  propounded  her  last  will 
and  testament,  wherein,  theretofore  unknown  to  all  except 
the  testatrix  and  her  lawyer,  her  property  of  every  de 
scription  had  been  bequeathed  to  Madison.  The  legatee, 
in  Mr.  Reid's  judgment,  was  restored  to  sanity  as  instan 
taneously  as  if  he  had  been  dipped  in  the  pool  of  Siloam, 
and  just  exactly  such  another  wedding  had  not  been  in  that 
neighborhood  for,  oh  !  I  couldn't  now  say  how  many  years. 


110  MARTHA 

"  En,  oh,  Miss  Marpby,"  Uncle  Greene  used  to  say,  with 
what  resignation  was  possible  in  the  regrets  that  he  hoped 
he  had  felt  for  the  departed — "  oh,  young  missis,  I'm  dat 
tankful — as  de  po'  'oman  had  to  go  when  her  time  come, 
in  co'se —  I'm  dat  tankful  she  went  in  de  triump'  o'  de 
faith." 


THE    SUICIDAL    TENDENCIES    OF 
MR.  EPHRODTUS  TWILLEY. 


"  Aspice,  quam  ssevas  increpat  aura  minas  !" — PROPERTIUS. 


THE  emigration  of  the  Twilleys  from  South  Carolina 
ended  at  our  village  by  the  breaking  down  of  the  horse 
that  drew  the  wagon  bearing  them  and  their  property.  A 
small  house  just  out  of  town  on  the  east  being  without  a 
tenant,  they  took  it.  The  family,  after  the  death  of  the 
horse,  comprised  only  Mr.  Twilley,  his  wife,  and  their  daugh 
ter,  Simanthy.  Their  dress  and  general  appearance  sug 
gested  that  either  such  poverty  was  not  their  normal  state 
or  that  they  were  not  without  ambition  to  improve:  the 
man,  somewhat  above  middle  height,  slender,  mild,  though 
inquiry-looking;  the  woman,  rather  low  in  stature,  quick  of 
motion,  and  studied  in  speech ;  the  daughter,  now  ten  years 
old,  seeming  to  have  inherited  her  father's  physique  and  the 
rest  from  her  mother.  All  got  early  notice  from  the  vil 
lagers,  the  earlier  perhaps  from  the  fact  that  very  shortly 
after  their  arrival  they  were  known  to  be  members  of  the 
religious  denomination  to  which  a  large  majority  of  the  for 
mer  belonged. 

Even  the  Christian  name  of  Mr.  Twilley  was  made  known 


112    SUICIDAL   TENDENCIES    OF    EPHKODTUS   TWILLEY. 

as  early  as  the  second  day  after  their  arrival,  he,  while  his 
wife  and  daughter  were  engaged  in  stowing  in  the  new  resi 
dence  their  household  goods,  having  walked  up-town  and 
seated  himself  on  a  chair  in  the  piazza  of  Mr.  Eland's  store. 
This  name  was  originally  meant  for  Epaphroditus.  But  his 
parents,  being  persons  of  limited  education,  contracted  it  to 
Ephrodtus  ;  and  the  bearer,  whose  literary  advantages,  for 
some  reason,  had  not  been  better,  though  a  somewhat  as 
piring  person,  never  laid  claim,  if  he  knew  of  it,  to  the 
proper  elongation. 

It  was  not  difficult  to  see  that  pride  in  the  possession  of 
this  distinguished  name  had  existed  long  before  Mr.  Twil- 
ley's  removal  to  Dukesborough.  It  was  said  that  at  one 
time  he  had  claimed  direct  lineal  descent  from  the  historic 
character  who  had  transmitted  it ;  and  not  until  repeatedly 
assured  that  this  bearer  of  the  Epistle  of  St.  Paul  to  the 
Philippians  was,  in  all  probability,  a  Jew,  did  he  rebate  this 
claim,  and  become  content  with  other  inheritances  besides 
mere  blood.  These  were  weak  health  of  body,  demonstra 
tive  love  of  the  members  of  his  religious  denomination, 
proper  hostility  to  those  of  all  others,  special  devotion  to 
church  officials,  and  a  notable  fondness  for  bearing  letters 
and  other  messages  among  them.  Superadded  to  these  was 
an  apparent  preference  for  rendering  such  service  as  what 
he  styled  his  "  ofting  infirmities "  allowed  to  others  than 
his  own  family  —  a  trait  not  very  uncommon  with  some 
sorts  of  men. 

As  people  became  more  and  more  acquainted  with  the 
new-comers  they  joined  in  various  degrees  in  the  surprise 
which  Mrs.  Twilley  occasionally,  at  some  proper  distance, 
intimated  to  have  been  felt  by  herself,  that  such  a  woman 
should  have  taken  such  a  man  for  husband.  She  was  not, 
however,  a  high-tempered  nor  a  gloomy-spirited  person  in 


SUICIDAL   TENDENCIES    OF    EPHEODTUS    TWILLEY.      113 

general.  Necessity  for  the  activity  that  was  born  with  her, 
the  practice,  in  the  line  of  business,  of  arts,  some  of  which 
made  decency,  cheerfulness,  even  studied  softness  of  man 
ner,  indispensable  to  success,  had  hitherto  kept  off  every 
thing  like  desperation.  Her  face  had  the  signs  of  having 
once  been  handsome;  her  dressing,  poor  as  she  was,  was  not 
only  scrupulously  neat,  but  stylish  to  a  degree  quite  beyond 
•what  Dukesborough  had  been  used  to ;  and  her  language, 
though  usually  conducted  on  a  subdued  key,  gave  evidence 
always  of  being  formed  with  careful  regard  to  the  selection 
of  words  and  the  pronunciation  and  intonation  that  would 
be  of  every  possible  advantage.  Her  gait  was  as  stylish  as 
her  dress  and  speech  ;  perhaps  more  so,  for  Mr.  Twilley  often 
said,  and  she  never  denied,  that  she  was  related  to  the  Plum- 
mers,  who,  in  former  prosperous  times,  were  as  good  people 
as  any  in  all  that  region  of  Carolina. 

The  occupations  of  Mrs.  Twilley  besides  domestic,  when 
she  had  become  well  known,  were  various,  but  mostly  per 
tained  to  the  peculiar  wants  of  persons  of  her  own  sex. 
She  did  indeed  cut  and  make  clothes  for  men  and  boys ; 
yet  feeling  what  a  delicate  person  she  was,  this  was  not  one 
of  her  favorites,  but  done  incidentally  during  those  intervals 
wherein  her  professional  duties  of  which  she  was  fondest 
slackened,  and  because,  as  she  often  declared,  she  could  not 
bear  to  be  idle.  She  was  an  adept  at  making  and  fitting 
ladies'  garments,  and  the  trimming  of  their  Leghorn  bon 
nets  and  green  silk  calashes.  As  for  the  repairing  of  the 
former,  and  restoring  the  golden  sheen  with  which  they  had 
first  come  out  of  the  store,  she  obtained  in  the  very  briefest 
time  the  monopoly  of  that  business.  Then  she  iced  cakes 
beautifully,  and  her  cuttings  of  paper-hangings  for  syllabub 
stands  were  said  to  be  perfect.  Further  yet,  Mrs.  Twilley, 
though  not  claiming  to  have  had  a  professional  education 


114      SUICIDAL   TENDENCIES    OF    EPHRODTUS   TWILLEY. 

(for,  indeed,  there  was  in  those  times  no  such  thing  for  the 
sex),  yet  had  united  in  her  the  qualities  of  physician  and 
nurse  to  a  degree  that  some  of  the  ladies  used  to  call  excel 
lent.  Doctors'  bills,  then  as  now,  were  subjects  of  com 
plaint,  so  that  such  as  Mrs.  Twilley,  though  none  so  often 
and  with  so  satisfactory  results,  used  to  be  called,  particu 
larly  to  women  and  very  young  children. 

These,  as  in  the  matter  of  outward  decoration,  were  her 
preferred  patients.  Yet  to  men  and  boys,  notably  in  cases 
of  rheumatism,  fits,  burns,  and  boils,  she  would  have  consid 
ered  it  wrong  to  refuse  to  prescribe  (though  always  with 
utmost  delicacy)  what,  with  taking  accentuation,  she  called 
her  tinctions  and  dequoctions.  In  time  she  was  believed  to 
know  about  some  cases  as  much  as  the  doctors,  if  not  more. 
Ladies  with  extremely  young  children  found  in  her  a  phy 
sician  skilful  as  there  was  commonly  any  need  to  be,  a  per 
fect  nurse,  a  pleasant  companion,  sometimes  a  cherished 
confidante.  Calls  for  her  at  length  came  even  from  the 
country.  At  a  Saturday  conference,  the  first  she  had  been 
able  to  attend  for  some  time,  Mrs.  Byne,  who  dwelt  three 
miles  south,  near  the  hither  bank  of  the  Ogeechee,  said  to 
Mrs.  Leadbetter,  wife  of  the  leading  deacon, 

"How  I'd  of  ever  got  through  what  I've  been  through, 
Sister  Leadbetter,  and  come  out  a  live  woman,  hadn't  been 
for  Sister  Twilley,  goodness  only  knows.  And  as  for  my 
baby,  its  little  stomach  had  got  that  wommacked  up  with 
the  doctor's  medicines,  when  it  had  the  hives,  that  Mr.  Byne 
and  me  give  it  up  to  die ;  when  Sister  Twilley  took  it,  and 
soon  as  she  took  it,  look  like  the  poor  little  thing  knowed 
who  were  its  friend,  and  it  hushed  and  begun  gitting  better 
that  very  minute.  And  Mr.  Byne  say  hadn't  been  we  called 
in  Sister  Twilley,  the  doctor's  bill  would  of  took  a  whole 
bag  o'  cotton.  And  he  say  furthermore,  Mr.  Byne  do,  that 


SUICIDAL    TENDENCIES    OF   EPHRODTUS    TWILLEY.      115 

she's  as  ejicated  a  person  as  they  is  in  Dukesborough,  and 
I  believe  it,  because  she  used  a  many  a  word  that  /  didn't 
know  the  meaning  of  'em.  And  what  do  Br'er  Twilley  do, 
Sister  Leadbetter  ?" 

"  When,"  answered  that  lady,  "  well  as  I  can  gether,  Sis 
ter  Byne,  when  he  ain't  a-kyarrin  of  messenges  and  a  totin' 
of  news,  he's  a-settin'  in  Mr.  Eland's  peazer." 

II. 

Inactive  as  was  the  career  of  Mr.  Twilley,  it  was  not 
wholly  uneventful.  No  valetudinarian,  it  is  probable,  ex 
cept  among  uncommonly  saintly  persons,  ever  made  less 
angry  complaint,  at  least  in  public,  against  infirmities  of 
health,  than  did  Mr.  Twilley  against  those  which  he  had  in 
herited  from  his  renowned  namesake. 

"  People,"  he  would  often  say, "  that  is  a  everlastin'  com- 
plainin'  about  their  bad  healths  can't  expect  in  reason  to 
have  enjoyment  of  theirselves.  I've  always  been  ag'in  sech 
as  that,  'flicted  as  I  am,  and  so  were  Ephrodtus  in  the  Bible 
thar,  who  my  father,  an'  he  done  it  o'  purpose,  named  me 
arfter.  lie  were  sick  nigh  onto  death,  so  the  'postle  writ, 
an'  yit  he  never  complained,  nor  went  about  a-complainin'; 
but  he  got  up,  took  the  'Postle  Paul's  epistle,  and  kyarr'd  it 
straight  to  them  Phlippians,  who  he  writ  it  to,  straight  as 
he  could  go." 

"  Well,  but,  Mr.  Twilley,"  Mr.  Bland  might  interpose 
about  here,  "  your  Bible  namesake  got  well  and  went  at 
something  else,  didn't  he  ?  He  didn't  jes'  confine  hisself  to 
kyarrin  letters,  did  he  ?  and  do  not  a  blessed  thing  for  his 
livin',  I  hope." 

"  The  Bible  don't  say  so,  Mr.  Bland.  You  read  it.  It 
don't  say  he  got  well  ever  complete,  an'  never  got  laid  up. 
lie  went  on  to  his  jooty,  an'  it's  what  I  tries  to  do.  I  jes' 


116      SUICIDAL    TENDENCIES    OF    EPHEODTUS    TWILLEY. 

natchul  can't  help  from  lovin'  to  fetch  the  glad  tidin's,  an' 
'special'  'mong  my  brethren  an'  sisters,  an'  as  for  goin'  reg'- 
lar  to  meetin',  I'm  goin'  to  do  that  long  as  I  can  git  there, 
makes  no  odds  if  them  fitty  spells  does  come  on  me,  an' 
Br'er  Leadbetter  and  Br'er  Hall  has  to  take  me  out  twell  I 
can  revvive  an'  come  back." 

"  Were  he  a  married  man  ?" 

"  The  Bible  don't  say  so." 

"Because  I  thought  if  he  was  he  could  of  found  some 
thing  else  to  do  besides  of  kyarrin  letters." 

"  You  can't  put  in  the  Bible  what  ain't  thar  already,  Mr. 
Bland." 

"  Oh,  I'm  pnttin'  nothing  in  it.     I  were  just  a-inquirin'." 

The  spells  alluded  to  by  Mr.  Twilley  were  of  so  frequent 
occurrence  that  the  boys,  and  even  some  of  the  girls,  were 
disappointed  when  a  Sunday  meeting  passed  without  the 
stir  they  produced. 

"  Look  out !"  one  would  whisper,  "  Mr.  Twilley's  goin'  to 
have  one  of  his  fits." 

These  occurred  during  the  sermon,  and  were  usually  pre 
ceded  by  a  most  felicitous  expression  on  his  face,  as  if  the 
unction  poured  down  by  his  pastor  was  so  abundant  and 
sweet  that  he  must  be  carried  into  the  outer  air  to  be  re 
lieved  of  a  portion  of  its  redundancy.  After  a  few  mo 
ments  he  would  return  to  his  seat,  when,  bestowing  a  look 
of  thankfulness  all  around,  he  would  lift  up  his  head  and  be 
gin  to  take  the  remaining  supplies.  It  had  gotten  so  that 
neither  preacher  nor  congregation  was  much  startled  by 
these  spells.  To  the  younger  portion  of  the  latter  they 
served  to  make  the  sermon  appear  of  more  endurable 
length.  In  time,  however,  the  deacons  became  wearied,  not 
that  their  true  hearts  were  without  sympathy,  or  their  stal 
wart  arms  without  strength,  but  that  they  were  not  willing, 


SUICIDAL   TENDENCIES    OF    EPHRODTUS   TWILLEY.      117 

unless  unavoidably,  to  lose  any,  especially  the  very  warmest 
part,  of  their  pastor's  discourse.  Mr.  Leadbetter,  the  older 
of  the  two,  after  some  reflection,  thought  he  would  appeal 
to  Mrs.  Twilley's  medicinal  skill  foV  relief  to  all  parties. 

"  I  wonder,  Sister  Twilley,"  he  said  to  her  one  day  when 
she  was  visiting  at  his  house,  "  that,  as  you  helps  other  fitty 
people,  you  don't  try  an'  see  what  you  can  do  on  Br'er 
Twilley." 

"Laws  of  mercies,  Brother  Leadbetter!"  she  answered, 
with  an  indifferent  smile,  "  them  egzitements  of  Mr.  Twilley 
is  nothing  in  the  world  but  little  sprasm-fits  that  comes  on 
him  in  meeting  when  he  have  the  ideases  that  he  is  too  full 
to  hold  no  more.  They  are  not  paryoxims  at  all.  If  they 
was  paryoxims,  I  could  do  somethings  with  him ;  but,  as  it 
is,  you  notice  that  when  he  have  them  I  never  goes  a-nigh 
him,  but  sets  an'  listens  to  Brother  Swinney  the  same  as  if 
no  accident,  an'  which  they  isn't,  just  betwixt  me  and  you." 

Mr.  Leadbetter  reflected,  and  then  said,  "  But,  Sister  Twil 
ley,  couldn't  you  —  ahem! — couldn't  you  fling  him — ah! 
what  you  say  them  tother  things  wuz?" 

"Paryoxims,  Brother  Leadbetter.  They  are  a  kind  of  fits 
that  is  fits  indeed,  and  requests  clos'  managings  and  attench- 
ings.  I  has  had  sometimes,  but  not  ofting,  to  throw  childern 
into  paryoxims  to  get  those  out  of  the  whooping-cough  ; 
but  it  is  resky,  an'  with  grown  people  it's  dangersome.  An' 
as  for  Mr.  Twilley,  his  case  ain't  a  case  for  females,  /can 
do  no  more  with  him  than  you  can,  and,  in  fact  an'  truth, 
not  as  much.  I've  tried  persuadings  an'  adwisings,  but  that 
only  fret  him  an'  make  him  go  to  threatening.  But  that  is 
dimestics  matters,  an'  belongs  to  the  mere  little  sprasm-fits 
that's  his  kinds  of  pets,  an'  which  /  can't  manage  no  more 
than  you  can,  an'  not  as  much,  an'  the  dilicacies  of  my  sit- 
ooations  keeps  me  from  being  prepeered  to  say  how." 


118      SUICIDAL    TENDENCIES    OF    EPHRODTUS  TWILLEY. 

Mr.  Leadbetter  frowned,  yet  with  full  respect,  upon  the 
lady,  but  did  not  press  either  the  suggestion  he  had  made 
or  the  solution  of  her  remarks,  which  were  far  from  being- 
satisfactory  to  his  mind.  But  a  few  days  thereafter,  while 
Mr.  Twilley  was  on  a  visit  to  him,  and  they  were  sitting  in 
the  piazza,  he  said,  in  a  tone  that,  if  remonstrative,  meant 
to  be  regarded  as  affectionate  also, 

"  Br'er  Twilley,  ef  them  fitty  spells  of  yourn  is  obleeged 
to  take  you  in  the  rneetin'-house,  I  wish  it  could  be  so  that 
they  could  be  put  off  untwell  after  Br'er  Swinney  git  through 
with  his  sermont ;  because,  as  we  don't  hear  him  but  oncet 
a  month,  it  stand  to  reason  that  it  go  ruther  hard  on  me 
an'  Br'er  Hall  to  have  to  be  a-totin'  you  out  right  in  the 
wery  hottest  part,  an'  a-havin'  the  young  people  o'  the  con 
gregation — you  know  how  young  people  is,  Br'er  Twilley. 
Ahem  !  Now,  of  course,  I  know  that  'flictions  is  'flictions, 
an',  as  the  'Cluster'*  say,  is  oft  in  mercy  sent,  yit  my 
hopes  should  fain  be  strong  that  you  could,  as  it  were,  you 
may  say,  brace  yourself  ag'in  'em,  at  leastways  for  the  pres 
ent  time  a-bein',  so  we  can  all  git  all  we  can  outen  the  mes- 
senges  Br'er  Swinney  fetches  us." 

"  Br'er  Leadbetter,"  answered  Mr.  Twilley,  with  a  hum 
ble  smile,  "  it's  because  I  gits  that  full  o'  consolation  at  them 
messenges,  that  I  jes'  natchelly  feels  like  runnin'  over,  an' 
therfs  the  time  the  fits  gits  me." 

"Jes'  so,  an'  ef  you  could  jes'  only  hold  on  an'  hold  in 
ontwell  Br'er  Swinney  was  done,  it  would  be  seek  a  ricom- 
mendation  to  you  an'  us  all,  Br'er  Twilley,  an'  'special'  to 
me  an'  Br'er  Hall." 

"  I'll  do  my  best,  Br'er  Leadbetter,"  said  the  invalid,  af 
ter  a  sad  pause.  "/  no  doubt  Ephrodtus,  that  the  'Postle 

*  "  Mercer's  Cluster,"  a  hymn-book  used  among  country  people. 


SUICIDAL   TENDENCIES    OF    EPHRODTUS    TWILLEY.    119 

Paul  used  to  send  his  'pistles  by,  tried  his  levellest  best  to 
git  well,  ef  not  for  hisself,  for  his  other  brothrin,  an'  I 
means  to  do  the  same.  My  father  named  me  arfter  him, 
Br'er  Leadbetter,  an'  I  ben  a-tryin'  to  foller  the  egzampul 
he  sot;  but  I'll  try  harder  yit  from  this  day  an'  date." 

"  That's  right !  That's  right !"  said  Mr.  Leadbetter,  with 
a  cordiality  that  was  gushing ;  "  an'  I  no  doubt  you'll  be 
thankful  for  doin'  of  it.  I  know  me  an'  Br'er  Hall  will." 

It  went  to  show  what  virtue  is  in  earnest  purpose  and 
resolute  endeavor  that  Mr.  Twilley's  very  next  fit  was  post 
poned  even  until  the  congregation  was  dismissed. 

"  Sher !"  said  little  Tom  Beach,  "  sech  fits  as  that  ain't 
worth  a  copper  to  look  at." 

Said  Mr.  Leadbetter,  "The  brothrin  was  all  gratified, 
thankful,  'special'  me  an'  Br'er  Hall." 

III. 

As  if  he  noticed  the  diminution  of  sympathy  for  his  be 
lated  spells,  Mr.  Twilley's  cheerfulness  in  and  out  of  church 
seemed  to  decline.  He  punctually,  as  before,  continued  to 
take  his  wall  end  of  a  bench  near  the  lofty  pulpit,  but  it  be 
gan  to  be  observed  that,  instead  of  ecstasy  upon  his  face 
(pleasant  to  see  except  for  the  scene  it  used  to  forbode),  he 
now  regarded  the  preacher  with  a  stern  intensity  during  the 
first  half  of  the  discourse,  and  when  the  unction  had  begun 
to  fall  fairly  he  rested  his  head  sometimes  against  the  wall, 
more  often  on  the  bench  in  front,  and  had  precisely  the  ap 
pearance  of  a  person  asleep.  Tom  Beach  maintained  that 
he  was  asleep,  and,  in  the  manner  of  a  person  resentful  for 
an  injury,  said,  frequently, 

"  Sher !  them  sprasm-fits  he  used  to  have,  he  had  'em  to 
keep  his  eyes  open  when  Miswinney  was  a-preachin'.  He 
may  fool  Misleadbetter ;  he  can't  fool  me." 


120      SUICIDAL   TENDENCIES    OF    EPHRODTUS    TWILLEY. 

The  very  last  public  prostration  of  Mr.  Twilley  took  place 
in  the  front  yard,  and  was  so  uneventful  comparatively  that 
Tom  Beach  said  that  if  nobody  would  ever  mention  the 
name  of  old  man  Twilley  again  where  he  could  hear  it,  he 
would  be  much  obleeged  to  'em. 

But  consequences  quite  beyond  the  mere  diminution  of 
cheerfulness  were  destined  to  follow  the  change  thus  brought 
about  by  so  extraordinary  efforts  at  the  control  of  an  un 
fortunate  malady.  Formerly  it  had  been  remarked  that 
Mr.  Twilley's  highest  pleasure  in  reading  the  newspaper 
published  by  his  congregation  was  derived  from  the  obitu 
ary  notices  of  pious  brethren  and  sisters  who  had  departed. 
Acquaintance  with  these  when  in  life  was  not  at  all  neces 
sary  to  the  sweetness  of  the  recital  of  their  last  hours.  At 
such  readings  he  would  softly  and  brokenly  express  the  re 
quest  that,  when  he  should  go,  some  of  the  brethren  would 
write  to  the  paper,  telling,  among  other  things,  how  he  had 
gone  in  the  triumphs  of  the  faith,  especially  that  branch  of 
it  in  which  he  had  always  been  located — if  he  could  so 
speak.  But  now  even  these  harmless  transports  became 
more  and  more  subdued,  and  whenever  the  subject  of  death 
in  any  form  was  mentioned  in  his  hearing  his  countenance 
wore  an  expression  more  and  more  gloomy,  even  threaten 
ing,  Mr.  Hall  one  day  mentioned  to  the  leading  elder  his 
apprehension  that  Mr.  Twilley  was  in  danger  of  backsliding. 

"  Oh,  I  hope  not,"  answered  Mr.  Leadbetter ;  "  at  least, 
no  very  fur  ways.  I've  told  Br'er  Twilley  ef  he  could  find 
something  to  do  besides  of  walkin'  about  an'  settin'  about, 
ef  it  were  only  a- weed  in'  out  his  wife's  g'yard'n,  er  cuttin' 
wood,  er  fetchin'  water  fer  her,  in  my  opinions  he'd  be  bet 
ter  off  in  body  an'  mind.  He  say  he  broke  hisself  down 
a-workin'  when  he  were  young.  I  hain't — jes'  betwix'  me 
an'  you,  Br'er  Hall — I  hain't  been  witness  to  his  hurtin'  his- 


SUICIDAL    TENDENCIES    OF    EPHRODTUS    TWILLEY.     121 

self  that  way  sence  he  ben  here.  Bat  I  hain't  been  afeard 
o'  his  backsliding  that  is,  to  no  great  extents.  He  have  a 
too  good  of  a  egzample  of  a  wife  for  that." 

"But  there  it  is.  They  tell  me  that  here  lately  she  ben 
a-tellin'  him  it's  a  shame  he  won't  work  to  help  support  his 
fambly,  an'  that  he  got  mad  as  a  wet  hen,  an'  ben  a-threat- 
'nin'  ef  she  didn't  hush  both'rin'  him  about  work  he'd — 
well,  the  words  /  heerd  was,  he  threatened  to  make  a  wid- 
der  of  her." 

"  M-m-make — make  what  of  her,  Br'er  Hall  ?" 

"  A  widder." 

"  A  wid — you  mean,  make  a  widderer  of — of  hisself  ?" 

"  No,  sir.     The  word  I  heerd  was  widder" 

"Why,  what  —  why,  don't  the  man  know  he  couldn't 
make  no  widder  of — of  his  own  wife,  no  marter  ef  he  was 
mean  enough  to  try  to?  'Bleeged  to  be  some  mistake 
some'r's  o'  some  kind,  er  else  the  man  have  backslid,  shore, 
an'  that  rapid.  Something  have  to  be  done  to —  You 
cert'n  in  your  mind,  Br'er  Hall,  that  the  man  use  the  word 
widder  ?" 

"  That's  the  word  I  heerd,  Br'er  Leadbetter,  with  my  own 
ears,  in  town." 

This  was  portion  of  a  conversation  between  the  deacons 
at  their  meeting  in  the  road  as  Mr.  Leadbetter  was  return 
ing  from  a  visit  to  his  country  place.  His  wife  met  him 
at  their  gate,  confirming  the  news. 

"  An,'  Mis'  Leadbetter,  ef  such  as  that  is  let  go  on,  we'll  jes' 
have  to  'bolish  the  church  an'  t'ar  down  the  meetin'-house." 

"But  the  question  is,  my  dear  Ninecy,  what  the  man 
mean  ?  /  don't  understan'  it." 

"  Ner  neither  do  me ;  but  which  make  the  case  worse, 
an'  make  'pear  like — I  come  mighty  nigh  a-sayin'  like  a 
murricle." 


122      SUICIDAL   TENDENCIES    OF    EPHRODTUS  TWILLEY. 

"  That's  egzactly  what  it  do  sound  like.  I  would  like  to 
know  whut  Br'er  Tvvilley  a-drivin'  at  by  his  remarks;  but 
my  ricommendation  to  you,  Ninecy,  is  to  be  very  prudent 
in  what  you  say  to — to  Sister  Twilley." 

Mr.  Leadbetter  had  not  been  deacon  for  thirty  years 
without  finding  out  some  things  about  the  starting  of  in 
quiries  concerning  matters  of  importance.  The  more  he 
cautioned  his  wife  about  keeping  herself  away  from  the 
Twilleys,  the  more  detremined,  as  he  foresaw,  she  would  be 
to  go  among  them.  So  that  night,  as  Mrs.  Leadbetter 
talked  and  talked,  he  sat  and  said  little  except  to  warn  her 
about  the  repetition  of  his  own  remarks  to  Mrs.  Twilley, 
while  she  grew  more  and  more  snre  in  her  mind  that  on 
the  very  next  morning,  as  soon  as  he  should  leave  the 
house,  on  her  head  her  bonnet  should  go,  and  straight  as 
her  feet  could  take  her  to  the  Twilleys  there  she  would 
travel. 

"  And,  Sister  Twilley,"  she  said,  after  a  brief  sorrowful 
salutation,  "  ef  I  was  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  don't  honest 
think  I  got  more'n  three  good  fa'r  winks  o'  sleep  the  blessed 
night  last  night,  a-layin'  awake  a-thinkin'  not  only  about 
you,  but  the  case  in  gen'l,  an'  how  any  man  person  'ith  any 
conscious  in  him  would  want  to  make  a  widder  outen  his 
own  lawful  kimpanion,  an'  then,  ef  so  be  the  case,  how  he 
'pended  on  goin'  about  it.  Mr.  Leadbetter — an'  he's  a-read- 
in'  man,  vou  know — he  say  sech  a  thing  can't  be  'ithout 
a  man  jes'  set  in  an'  kill  hisself — jes'  on'y  so,  out  an'  out." 

Mrs.  Twilley,  remembering  the  ancient  connection  of  her 
family  with  the  Plummers,  deliberate,  careful,  calm,  neat 
in  speech  as  in  the  icing  of  cakes,  the  trimming  of  bonnets, 
and  the  spreading  of  poultices,  thus  answered  : 

"  I  were  perpeered,  Sister  Leadbetter,  to  be  requested 
about  Mr.  Twilley's  performans,  for  sech  performans  in  the 


SUICIDAL    TENDENCIES    OF   EPHRODTUS    TWILLEY.     123 

courses  of  times  cannot  be  hid  under  bushels.  The  life  I 
am  now  living  for  the  present  times  is  not  of  that  blissful 
kinds  that  is  fashionable  with  your  families  and  other  fam 
ilies  in  this  delightful — I  would  fain  call  it  city,  such  is  my 
predergices  for  its  inhabitants  and  populations.  As  for 
Mr.  Twilley,  ever  since  we  were  joined  and,  I  may  say, 
united  in  the  banes  of  matermony,  he  have  done  nothings 
I  can  remember  in  my  mind  to  help  support  hisself  even, 
let  alone  his  family.  Now  the  not  being  useded,  in  the 
families  I  was  raised,  for  men  to  do  nothing  vvhatsomever, 
and  women  do  evervthing  whatsomever  for  the  support  of 
rising  domestic  families,  1  have  sometimes  told  him  so  in 
waruous  words,  languages,  hintings,  and  suspishings.  He 
at  first,  Mr.  Twilley  did,  he  brought  up  the  case  of  the  good 
brother  in  the  Scripters  of  the  Aposchil  Paul,  arfter  whom, 
and  I  have  always  thought  since  I  have  knew  Mr.  Twilley 
intimate,  that  it  was  a  great  pity  his  parrents  named  him 
arfter  him.  When  he  see  they  didn't  convince  me,  he  went 
into  the  consequences  of  having  of  very  small  sprasm-fits. 
But  by  that  time,  Sister  Leadbetter — for,  Sister  Leadbetter, 
I  feel  like  I  can  talk  to  you  as  a  sister — I  had  studied  and 
edjecated  tinctions  and  dequoctions  to  that  that  I  never 
had  the  least  ideas  that  them  little  sprasm-fits  would 
ever  come  to  a  paryoxirn,  and  at  lengthwise  I  said  so,  or 
languages  according  to  it.  And  now  lately  Mr.  Twilley 
have  been  going  into  still  more  consequences,  and  them  are 
that  he  threatened  one  day  that  if  I  didn't  mind  he  would 
make  a  widow  of  me.  Of  course  I  were  surprised,  just  like 
you  was  when  you  first  heard  the  interesting  news ;  and  to 
tell  the  truth,  I  was  affrightened  with  fears,  a  not  under 
standing  Mr.  Twilley's  meanings.  But  this  was  in  foreign 
days,  and  'special'  when  Brother  Leadbetter  requested  him 
about  putting  off  his  emoshings  in  church  until  after  the 


124      SUICIDAL    TENDENCIES    OF    EPHEODTUS    TWILLEY. 

sermont,  which  of  course  lie  knevved,  in  all  the  circum 
stances  of  the  cases,  he  could  not  unoblige  aud  deny  Brother 
Leadbetter,  a-knowing  he  were  the  deacon,  and  the  oldest 
deacon  of  the  congregation  ;  but  which  that  had  made  him 
mad,  and  'special'  when  he  notussed  that  I  were  glad  for  the 
change.  At  first  I  were  affrightened  with  fears,  as  I  re 
peated  to  you  j  but  when  Mr.  Twilley  explained  his  opinions, 
and  I  found  that  he  was  a-talking  and  a-speaking  of  killing 
hisself,  my  mind  got  becalm,  because  I  knewed  that  were 
^possible  excepting  he  were  to  meet  up  with  a  accident. 
The  truth  is,  Sister  Leadbetter,  Mr.  Twilley  is  nowheres  nigh 
being  the  despert  and  voilent  man  that  might  be  supposened 
from  such  voilent  and  interesting  remarks.  But  a  few,  a 
very  small  quantity  of  days  ago,  when  I  had  got  fatigued 
with  my  trying  to  get  him  to  rise  from  his  slumbering  po 
sitions  and  kinditions  and  go  to  work  at  some  business  and 
ockepations  as  would,  if  no  mores,  feed  and  clothe  and  wash 
his  own  self,  his  remarks  was  yit  more  interesting;  and 
he  spoke  with  that  voilence  that  Tommy  Beach,  when  he 
were  a-passing  by  our  door,  he  were  obleeged  to  hear  him, 
and  that  is  the  way  the  news  spread,  I  have  not  a  doubts 
in  my  own  nor  any  person  else's  minds. 

"But,  oh,  Sister  Leadbetter!"  she  continued,  with  a  sad, 
soft  smile,  "  one  time,  in  former  days,  I  were  affrightened 
by  Mr.  Twilley's  first  open  attemptions,  which  I  can  now 
calmly  call  interesting,  because  my  experiences  is  there 
never  was  anything  in  them,  and  never  will  be,  excepting, 
as  I  before  repeated,  by  a  accident ;  but  yet  one  day  I  heard 
a  groaning  in  the  backyard  at  a  most  important  rate.  I 
run  to  the  solemn  sounds,  though  affrightened,  like  the 
deer.  There  set  Mr.  Twilley,  with  a  end  of  a  rope  h'isted 
over  a  chainyberry  tree,  around  his  neck,  and  a  end  in  his 
hands,  and  which  he  made  the  remarks  that  his  strenkt  had 


SUICIDAL    TENDENCIES    OF    EPHRODTUS    TWILLEY.     125 

give  out  just  at  the  last  jerk,  when  he  wanted  it  the  mostcst, 
an'  that  he  would  have  to  stay  in  this  vale  of  tears  a  while 
longer,  until  some  other  opportunities.  I  were  a  small 
somewhat  affrightened,  I  acknowledge,  betwixt  me  and  you, 
Sister  Leadbetter,  but  I  amejiate  saw  the  kinditions  and  the 
sitooashins.  Besides,  I  were  already  at  the  time  a-mlxing 
of  the  brimstone  and  other  ingregiencies  for  Sister  Hall's 
bonnet,  an'  I  jest  could  not  afford  to  tarry  at  any  such  a 
childless  scenery.  The  times  is  positive  not  sufficient" — 
the  lady  ended  with  tones  and  expressions  indicating  in 
cipient  slight  fatigue  —  "to  information  you  about  Mr. 
Twilley's  a-drinking,  instid  of  the  dequoction  of  jimson- 
weeds  he  said  he  had  perpeered,  from  a  bottle  of  rum  and 
allocampane  which  I  had  tinctioned  for  Missis  Plunket's 
weak  stomach,  and  then  agoing  to  bed  a-requesting  that  it 
shall  be  said  when  he  were  gone  that  what  killed  him  were 
his  heart  were  broke,  and  then,  when  he  waked  up  the  next 
morning,  to  have  to  say  to  Sirnanthy  that  it  did  seem  like 
he  had  as  many  lives  as  a  cat,  and  that  in  my  very  presons, 
but  which  I  set  silent  as  the  very  tombstone,  and  ,that  an' 
varous  other  performans  in  which  you  see  how  I've  been 
fooled,  though,  of  course,  a-knowing  always,  both  now  an' 
in  former  times,  that  nothing  is  never  in  them,  nor  won't 
be,  excepting,  of  course,  a  accident  of  some  kind." 

When  Mrs.  Twilley  had  ceased,  her  visitor  rose  abruptly. 

"  Sister  Twilley,  it  do  beat !  And  it's  a  pity  but  what 
some  kind  o'  ac — " 

But  right  there  Mrs.  Leadbetter  saw  that  as  a  Christian 
woman  she  ought  to  restrain  the  words  that  were  burning 
on  her  tongue.  She  sat  down  again,  and  as  strictly  confi 
dential  as  Mr.  Leadbetter  had  been  with  herself,  she  re 
peated  to  her  hostess  some  of  the  words  that  had  been 
employed  by  that  sagacious  and  excellent  man  relating  to 


126     SUICIDAL    TENDENCIES    OF  EPHRODTUS   TWILLEY. 

the  subject-matter  now  in  hand.  When  she  was  about  to 
go,  and  Mrs.  Twilley  said,  "  Oh,  Sister  Leadbetter,  if  it  was 
not  for  my  respects  for  thee  and  my  love  for  thee,"  and 
then  broke  down,  Mrs.  Leadbetter  broke  down  a  great  deal 
farther;  and  when  she  next  saw  her  husband,  after  repeat 
ing  as  well  as  she  could  Mrs.  Twilley's  history,  she  said : 
"  And  you  think,  Mr.  Leadbetter,  the  blessed  good  woman 
didn't  call  me  thee?  I  told  you  she  were  as  edjicated  as  the 
best  of  'em,  and  now  I  tell  you  she's  a  saint.  She  could 
a-never  of  used  them  words  to  me  'ithout  of  bein'  of  one. 
And  I  set  and  listened  to  her  woice  for  nigh  on  to  two 
hours,  which  I  think,  on  my  soul,  is  sweet  a'most  as  sing- 
in'." 

"  Very  fine,  very  fine  indeeds." 

"  It's  jest  another  case,  Mr.  Leadbetter,  of  a  man  a-dis- 
sip'intin'  of  his  lawful  wife,  and  a-gittin'  out  of  it  with 
threatening  that  has  nothin'  in  'em  but  laziness." 

"  He  have  not  been  flung  in  a  parrysism  yit,  I  suppose," 
remarked  Mr.  Leadbetter,  thoughtfully  and  rather  distantly. 

Mrs.  Leadbetter  laughed. 

"  The  laws !  Mr.  Leadbetter.  How  you  can  git  things 
wrong  !  They  ain't  parry-^'sws,  they're  parry-sosww.  And 
as  for  that,  he  may  be  flung  there  sooner'n  he's  a-expectin'. 
The  fact  is,  somethin's  got  to  be  done  to  stop  these  pro- 
ceedons,  or  the  deacons  '11  have  to  fetch  'em  up  before  the 
Confer'nce." 

"  Nothing  is  ever  made  by  hurryin',  Ninecy.  My  opin 
ions  is  that  for  the  present)  ef  Sister  Twilley — I  don't  mean 
anything  that's  too  projecky — but  ef  Sister  Twilley  could 
fling  Br'er  Twilley  into  say  a  mod'rate  size  one  of  her  par- 
rymoxums,  or  whutsomever  she  mind  to  call  'em,  for  you 
know  she  acknowledge  that  she  know  what  to  do  with 
them —  But  all  sich  talk  is,  in  course,  jes'  betwix'  me  and 


SUICIDAL    TENDENCIES    OF   EPHKODTUS    TWILLEY.     127 

yon,  Ninecy.  You  understan'  that,  an'  I  want  you  to.  It 
ain't — not  for  the  present — it  don't  seem  to  me  it  ain't  a 
case  for  the  Confer'nce.  My  hopes  is  on  Sister  Twilley, 
an'  her — whutsomever  the  things  is." 

Other  remarks  were  made  on  this  occasion  by  Mr.  Lead- 
better,  in  that  strict  confidence  warranted  between  husband 
and  wife. 

IV. 

The  mind  of  Mr.  Leadbetter  was,  indeed,  much  perplexed, 
mainly  for  the  sake  of  the  honor  of  the  church  of  which 
he  was  leading  deacon.  The  scandal  of  a  member  threaten 
ing  to  commit  suicide  was  of  course  a  matter  of  painful 
contemplation,  the  more  so  as  some  of  the  other  religious 
denominations  had  been  reported  to  be  much  amused  at  the 
state  of  things.  Yet  a  mere  threat — and  that  generally  re 
garded  as  idle— to  commit  a  crime  was  far  this  side,  even 
when  serious,  of  its  perpetration.  For  it  might  be  prevent 
ed  by  the  offender's  return  to  better  thoughts,  or,  as  now 
seemed  Mr.  Leadbetter's  hope,  by  fortunate  accidents  in-  the 
case  under  present  contemplation.  So  Mr.  Leadbetter  con 
cluded,  if  not  to  wait,  at  least  to  hasten  slowly. 

One  night,  after  a  very  long,  burning  drought,  the  village 
was  visited  by  an  abundant  and  most  refreshing  rain.  On 
the  next  morning,  after  a  plain  but  bountiful  and  excellently 
cooked  breakfast,  Mr.  Twilley  looked  cheerful,  and  as  if  he 
was  grateful  for  the  sweetness  shed  all  around. 

"  Mr.  Twilley,"  said  his  wife,  as  mildly  as  she  could  to 
save  her  life,  "  I  wish  you  would  go  in  the  garden  and  set 
out  some  cabbage-plants  and  potato  slips,  as  I  am  busy,  oc- 
kipied  with  Missis  Taylor's  cap,  which  I  promised  her  she 
should  receive  by  dinner-time  to-day." 

"  I'm  not  well  enough,  and  you  know  it,"  he  answered, 
with  a  threatening  frown. 


128     SUICIDAL    TENDENCIES    OF    EPHRODTUS    TWILLEY. 

"  You  are  well  enough  for  that  very  small  vocation,  Mr. 
Twilley,"  she  replied,  and,  I  must  admit,  with  more  positive- 
ness  than  was  her  wont,  for  it  is  more  than  probable  that 
after  several  recent  interviews  with  Mrs.  Leadbetter  she  had 
been  already  revolving  a  change  of  schedule  in  the  run  of 
her  domestic  life. 

"  Lookee  here,  female,"  said  Mr.  Twilley,  fiercely,  with 
that  stern  courage  so  habitual  in  his  family,  "  you've  come 
a-mighty  nigh  bein'  made  a  widow  many  a  times.  You 
want  to  be  one  before  your  time  come  ?" 

"  I've  been  a-thinkin'  on  the  exper'ences  of  widows,  Mr. 
Twilley,"  she  answered,  with  restored  mildness,  "and  a-see- 
ing  in  my  mind's  eye  how  much  comfortabler  and  pleasant- 
er  some  of  them  passes  their  days  away  than  some  others 
that  has  the  names  of  being  married,  that  I  don't  know, 
and  am  not  quite  certain  that  I  am  perpeered  to  make  a 
changing  expeer'ment,  if  so  be  it — it  should  be  my  lots." 

Then  she  rose,  opened  her  cupboard,  took  out  a  carving- 
knife,  sharpened  it  upon  a  whetstone  that  lay  near,  felt  with 
her  fingers  the  edge  of  the  blade,  soliloquized,  "  I  think  that 
will  preform  the  business;"  then  said,  yet  calm,  but  with 
awful  solemnity, 

"  Mr.  Twilley,  you  has  put  those  threat'nings  on  me  seve- 
rial  times  for  lo  those  many  years,  an'  you  has  tried  to  carry 
them  into  performance  for  lo  those  severial  times,  with 
hanging  yourself  with  ropes  and  strings  of  severial  size, 
with  taking  a  various  and  deffer'nt  kind  of  tinctions  and 
dequoctions,  an'  a-running  heads-foremost  against  the  back 
garding  fence  where  the  palings  was  off,  an'  you  had,  of 
course,  to  merrily  go  through  the  gap,  an'  other  var'ous  in 
tentions  which  did  not  peduce  your  desired  effects.  I  have 
now  sharpened  this  knife,  an'  you  may  both  see  and  feel  for 
yourself  that  the  aige  is  keen,  an'  one  single  wipe  across 


SUICIDAL    TENDENCIES    OF    EPHRODTUS    TWILLEY.     129 

your  th'oat  will  make  the  widow  it  seem  your  desires  to  see, 
an'  I'll  promise  you  to  not  raise  a  finger  to  pervent  it." 

By  this  time  Mr.  Twilley  had  risen,  and  as  she  advanced, 
proffering  the  instrument  temptingly  before  him,  he  backed 
to  the  front  door,  down  the  steps  to  the  gate,  kicked  it  open 
from  behind,  backed  through  the  opened  space,  wheeled, 
then  fled  amain. 

Mr.  Leadbetter  sat  in  his  piazza ;  his  open  Bible  lay  in 
his  lap ;  his  spectacles  drooped  far  down  on  his  nose ;  his 
eyes  were  closed.  For  the  grateful  rain  had  invited  first  to 
read  in  the  precious  volume,  and  in  the  midst  to  sleep. 

"  Distracted,  Br'er  Leadbetter  !  ravin'  distracted  !"  cried 
Mr.  Twilley  between  breaths  as  he  ascended  the  steps. 

"Distracted?  Who?  You?"  repeated  Mr.  Leadbetter, 
roused  from  sleep,  and  rising  to  his  feet. 

"  Me  ?     No,  sir !" 

"  Well,  ef  yon  shore  it  ain't  you,  set  down  and  tell  me 
about  it." 

When  the  story  was  through,  ending  with  a  plaintive  ap 
peal  for  advice,  Mr.  Leadbetter,  after  a  few  moments  of  ru 
mination,  said,  "  Seem  to  me,  Br'er  Twilley,  ef  it  was  me,  I'd 
go  back  home,  and  in  as  gentleman'y  way  as  Iknovved  how 
I'd  go  to  settin'  out  them  cabbage  and  potato  slips,  and  arf- 
ter  that  I'd  never  much  as  fling  out  a  hint  about  my  wife 
bein'  of  a  widder  in  no  shape  nor  form.  To  be  honest 
with  you,  Br'er  Twilley,  sech  news  as  you've  brung  wouldn't 
of  took  me  by  sech  surprise  exceptin'  I  had  drap  off  in  a 
nod,  as  my  head  got  ruther  heavy  a-follerin'  the  'Postle 
Paul  in  his  argiments  ag'in  the  fallin'  from  grace.  Bercause 
you  ought  to  know  by  good  rights,  Br'er  Twilley,  that  wid- 
ders  ain't  like  tother  female  wimming;  they're  a  indepen- 
denter  set  of  people  altogether,  and  a-includin'  them  that 
ain't  widders  in  fact,  but  which  thar  husbands  flings  out  his 


130      SUICIDAL   TENDENCIES    OF  EPHRODTUS    TWILLEY. 

threats  to  that  effect,  an'  which  wimming  '11  get  tired  arfter 
a  while  of  listenin'  to  sech,  continual  an'  everlasting  an' 
they'll  get  independenter  than  the  good  Book  allows  mar 
ried  wimming  to  be,  an'  they  is  danger  that  in  the  course  o' 
time  they'll  git  so  they  think  they  about  as  soon  be  widders 
as  not,  an'  maybe  some  ruther,  an'  other  have  no  kimpanion 
at  all,  or  stand  their  chances  for  one  that's  more  to  their  no 
tion  than  them  they  got  now.  I'm  a  older  man  than  what 
you  are,  Br'er  Tvvilley,  some ;  an'  I've  had  a  expeunce  of 
wimming,  an'  been  a-studyin'  of  'em  ever  sence  I  knowed 
myself,  you  may  say.  Why,  sir,  ef  I  was  to  fling  out  con 
stant  of  threats  to  make  a  widder  of  my  wife,  she'd  up  and 
say,  arfter  a  while,  '  Well,  Mr.  Leadbctter,  why-  don't  you  go 
'long  an'  do  it  ?'  but  which  I  hain't  never  used  them  words 
yit,  nor  am  not  a-goin'  to.  An'  so,  tharfore,  I  in  your  place, 
I'd  go  home  and  make  like  I  done  forgot  all  about  my  wife 
pokin'  the  k'arvin-knife  handle-foremost  at  me,  an'  I'd  go 
to  settin'  out  them  plants  and  slips,  an'  which  it  won't  do 
to  put  'ern  off.  I  ben  at  that  business  myself  long  before 
breakfast,  an'  it  ain't  through  with  yit." 

At  that  moment  Mrs.  Leadbetter,  sticking-fork  in  hand, 
appeared  at  the  front  door. 

"  Lookee  here,  Mr.  Leadbetter,  them  plants  an'  slips — 
why,  howdy,  Br'er  Twilley  ?  You've  all  sot  out  yourn,  I 
s'pose;  got  no  time  to  tarry  ;  come  on,  Mr.  Leadbetter,  soon 
as  you  an'  Br'er  Twilley  through  your  talks."  And  away 
she  went. 

"Thar,  now.  See  how  'tis,  Br'er  Twilley?  The  creeters 
is  made  so,  an'  a  man  have  to  do  the  best  he  ken." 

"Is  he  goned?"  asked  Mrs.  Leadbetter,  with  a  smile, 
when  her  husband,  a  few  moments  afterwards,  joined 
her. 

"Oh  yes.     Sister  Twilley,  shore  enough, flung  him  in  one 


SUICIDAL    TENDENCIES    OF    EPHUODTUS    TWILLEY.     131 

of  her  parrymoxims.     I  give  him  some  few  gentle  cautions, 
an'  you  flung  in  a  binder  yourself." 
"  I  aimed  at  it,"  she  replied. 

V. 

Mr.  Twilley  returned  with  slowness,  inversely  propor 
tioned  to  the  speed  with  which  he  had  advanced.  He  took 
notice  all  along  that  the  men  of  the  village  generally  were 
availing  themselves  of  the  gracious  season  by  opportune 
work  in  their  front  yards,  and  especially  their  gardens. 

"  Cabbage  an'  pertaters  is  bound  to  be  plenty  this  year," 
he  soliloquized,  "  if  there's  anything  in  plantin'."  On  reach 
ing  home  he  paused  at  the  gate,  and  possibly  hoped  for  an 
invitation  from  his  wife  to  enter,  as  she  sat  in  the  piazza. 
But  she  was  busy  with  Mrs.  Taylor's  cap,  and  did  not  ap 
pear  to  notice  him.  He  uttered  a  very  loud  sigh ;  then, 
passing  on  to  a  corner  of  the  yard,  turned  and  proceeded  to 
the  back  lot,  through  which  having  passed  into  the  garden, 
he  took  off  his  coat  and  sorrowfully  went  to  work. 

Mr.  Leadbettcr  was  gratified  by  the  results  of  the  counsel 
he  had  given  with  various  degrees  of  directness.  The  par 
oxysm  into  which  Mr.  Twilley  had  been  thrown  effected  as 
much  of  a  cure  as  was  possible  to  human  agency  in  a  case 
so  chronic.  Henceforth,  instead  of  being  resolute  to  make 
a  widow  of  his  wife,  he  tried  to  pay  to  her  every  wish  a 
deference  that  led  to  the  suspicion  that  he  feared  that 
on  some  exciting  occasion  she  might  conclude  to  make  a 
widow  of  herself,  and  painful  as  was  even  the  thought  of 
doing  any  sort  of  domestic  work,  it  was  less  so  than  the  al 
ternative.  His  wife,  having  acquired  a  just  ascendency  by 
heroic  employment  of  her  medical  skill,  held  it  with  a  reso 
lution  as  firm  as  it  was  mild.  It  would  have  been  pitiful, 
but  for  being  funny,  to  notice  Mr.  Twilley's  feeble  efforts  to 


132     SUICIDAL    TENDENCIES    OF    EPHRODTUS    TWILLEY. 

be — at  least  to  appear — industrious.  Fortunately  for  his 
wife,  though  to  the  regret  of  the  villagers,  who  without  ex 
ception  had  grown  to  admire  and  respect  her  much,  she  re 
ceived  and  accepted  from  a  dry-goods  merchant  at  Augusta 
an  offer  to  take  charge  of  an  annex  of  millinery  which  he 
had  made  to  his  store. 

"Are  you  a -in  tending  to  proceed  along  with  me,  Mr. 
Twilley  ?"  she  asked,  in  a  tone  that  had  grown  even  more 
subdued  and  calm  since  the  establishment  of  her  power. 

"Why,  the  laws  of  mercy,  Sy  Ivy  !  In  course!  What 
else—" 

"  All  right.  I  only  wished  to  know  your  desires,  your  in 
tentions,  and  your  kinclusions.  If  them  are  they,  I'll  take 
you  along  with  the  rest  of  the  furnitoors,  what  few  I've 
got." 

He  did  not  say  thanky,  ma'am,  but  he  felt  it.  True  to 
her  promise,  she  hauled  him  off  with  the  other  things.  He 
departed,  waving  a  humbly  cheerful  good-by  to  all  whom 
the  wagon  met. 

We  heard  from  the  family  occasionally.  Mrs.  Twilley 
grew  more  and  more  in  favor  with  her  employer.  Her  re 
luctance  to  part  from  the  practice  of  her  medicinal  acquire 
ments  was  compensated  by  generous  returns  for  her  single 
occupation.  After  her  husband's  discharge  of  the  easy  do 
mestic  tasks  she  imposed,  she  kindly  allowed  him  to  go 
where  he  pleased,  and  while  thus  abroad  do  what  he  pleased. 
True  to  his  traditions,  his  fondest  active  service  was  the 
carriage  of  messages  among  the  new  brethren.  In  good  time 
Simanthy  married,  and  married  well,  and  most  cordially  was 
her  father  wont  to  congratulate  himself  in  every  presence 
(except  that  of  Mrs.  Twilley)  for  the  great  and  successful 
pains  with  which  he  had  brought  her  up. 


DR.  HINSON'S   DEGREE. 


"  Wounds  by  wider  wounds  are  healed." — Hudibras. 

DR.  HINSON  had  been  ordained,  after  a  reasonable  license 
term,  to  preach,  not  so  much  from  consideration  of  special 
fitness  for  the  exalted  calling,  as  from  certain  vague  appre 
hensions  among  the  brethren  of  what  might  ensue  if  they 
heeded  not  solemn  assurances  on  the  part  of  one  of  their 
members  that  he  had  received  in  private  unmistakable  calls 
thereto  from  Heaven.  He  was  not  then  a  doctor,  nor  did 
he  get  his  degree  either  from  the  reputation  of  possessing 
great  theological  learning  or  from  the  faculty  of  any  college 
of  medicine.  Yet  he  was  a  man  of  quite  pronounced  char 
acter,  bold  in  the  assertion  and  maintenance  of  his  opinions, 
and  always  ready  for  anybody  who  expressed  a  desire  to 
fight  him.  Though  plucky  to  the  last  degree,  he  was  not 
notably  vigorous  of  body  nor  skilful  in  combat.  It  must 
happen,  therefore,  sometimes  that  his  adversaries  were  too 
much  for  him.  Whenever  this  was  the  case,  he  would  cry 
out  in  perfect  honesty,  "  Enough !"  or  "  Take  him  off !"  or 
utter  other  expressions  that  indicated  his  wish  for  the  strug 
gle  to  be  suspended  for  the  present.  Yet  afterwards,  when 
well  rested,  he  would  repair  to  the  field  and  confidently  and 
defiantly  ask  for  more. 

He  was  a  native  of  the  pine  region  of  North  Carolina, 


134 

and,  like  all  true  patriots,  was  proud  of  the  country  that  had 
given  him  birth.  Having  settled  on  the  head-waters  of  the 
Ogeechee,  though  he  owned  a  tip-top  piece  of  undulating 
oak  and  hickory  land,  he  habitually  expressed  regrets  for 
the  pine  levels  of  his  native  State,  and  often  he  was  heard 
to  say  that  but  for  an  occasional  pine-tree  (though  absurdly 
short  leaf)  that  grew  in  his  woodland  he  would  return  to 
the  banks  of  Tar  River  and  spend  the  remnant  of  his  days 
by  the  fireside  so  cheaply  warmed  and  illumed. 

After  they  made  him  a  preacher,  his  sermons,  as  well  as  I 
can  gather  from  tradition,  were  not  so  notable  as  his  pray 
ers.  It  was  in  family  prayer  particularly  that  he  became 
rather  notorious.  He  never  denied  being  fond  of  good  eat 
ing,  and  whenever  he  stopped  for  the  night  at  a  brother's 
house,  and  the  supper  was  uncommonly  nice,  he  would  al 
lude  to  it  in  his  prayer  in  thankful  phrase  that  sometimes 
rose  into  heartiest  encomium  on  the  sister  who  had  provided 
it.  For  instance,  they  used  to  say  of  him  that,  on  one  occa 
sion  when  he  was  tarrying  for  the  night  with  Brother  Dan 
iel  Gofer,  a  small  fair  man,  with  a  large  dark  wife,  he  was 
exalted  to  an  uncommonly  high  degree  of  sweetness,  and  he 
intimated  to  Sister  Gofer,  on  rising  from  the  supper-table, 
that  when  bedtime  should  come,  she  would  hear  from  him. 
And  sure  enough  she  did.  Indeed,  Sister  Gofer,  good,  hon 
est  woman  that  she  was,  said  afterwards,  in  salutary  confi 
dence,  to  a  large  number  of  the  sisterhood  that  "  Br'er  Hin- 
son  was  a'most  too  much  took  up  with  the  supper,  and  he 
used  not  enough  words  about  the  conwersion  o'  sinners,  an' 
'special'  the  poor  heatherners." 

"  The  fact  o'  the  business  is,"  said  Mrs.  Gofer,  "  I  were 
ruthur  nonplushed,  as  the  say  in'  is,  when  Br'er  Hinson  put 
up  his  pra'ars  an'  thanksgivin's  specially  for  the  rice  and 
milk  we  had  for  supper.  In  co'se  he  have  considible  to 


DR.  HINSON'S  DEGREE.  135 

say  about  the  fried  an'  br'iled  chicken,  the  biscuits  an'  muf 
fins  an'  hoe-cake,  an'  the  sweet  milk,  buttermilk,  an'  clabber, 
but  it  'pear  like  the  rice  an'  milk  were  what  went  more 
perkindickler  to  his  stomach  than  any  the  t'other  things ; 
an'  he  thes'  let  out  on  it  an'  them,  an'  he  ast  the  good  Lord 
to  bless  Jincy  Gofer  all  over  her,  all  around  her,  from  the 
top  to  the  bottom  of  her,  an'  that  he  didn't  believe  there 
were  a  woman  livin'  could  beat  her  on  rice  an'  milk.  An' 
then  he  ast  the  good  Lord  to  bless  Jincy  Gofer,  not  only  in 
her  goin's  out  an'  her  comin's  in,  not  only  in  her  h.usbon' 
an'  childern,  but  in  her  housle  an'  kitchen  furnicher.  Did 
you  ever !  But  it  were  right  funny,  solemn  as  it  all  were, 
when  he  praise  Mr.  Gofer  for  havin'  choosed  me  for  a  wife, 
an'  all  I  could  do,  on  my  very  knees,  as  I  were — all  I  could 
do  to  keep  from  smilin'  when  he  stop  in  his  pra'ar  an'  say 
to  Mr.  Gofer,  '  That's  right,  Dan.  Always  pick  out  a  big, 
yaller-skin  cow  to  give  good  milk.'  Did  you  ever  !  I  were 
the  nigher  a-smilin'  (which  in  co'se  I  know  a  body  oughtn't 
do  right  on  their  knees),  because  I  know  scch  as  that  rutlier 
shock  Mr.  Gofer,  who  say,  to  his  opinions,  they  is  mighty  lit 
tle  religion  in  it.  But  I  tell  him  never  mind.  Br'er  Uni 
son  ain't  perfec' ;  but  who  is  perfec'  ?  that's  the  queschin." 

His  residence  was  near  the  boundary-line  of  two  coun 
ties,  in  both  of  which  dwelt  several  men  who  were  fond  of 
horse-racing,  cock-fighting,  and  other  such  sports.  At  a 
place  known  until  now  as  the  Battery,  very  near  this  line, 
conflicts  of  many  .kinds  used  to  be  had.  The  annals  of 
border  warfare  have  no  names  more  cordially  true  to  tribe 
and  clan  than  was  Dr.  Hinson  to  the  men  of  his  ilk.  He 
had  been  so  before  he  became  a  preacher.  He  so  contin 
ued  when  he  ascended  into  the  pulpit. 

"No,  no,  no !"  he  would  say,  often  in  pious  and  patriotic 
fervor,  "I  ain't  o'  them  kind  o'  religion  that  hender  people 


136 

from  stannin'  up  to  their  own  side,  right  or  wrong.  I'm 
for  them  Bradfids,  an'  I'm  agin  them  Alsans.  I'm  a  minis 
ter  o'  the  Gospil  now,  an'  therefore  I  can't  pit  chickens ; 
but  I  can  pray;  an'  I  shall  kintinue  to  pray  that  Bradfid's 
chickens  '11  put  the  gaff  on  them  Alsans,  every  pop,  an'  my 
opinions  is  that  my  pra'ars  has  been  ansered  of'n  an'  of  n, 
an'  I  hain't  a  doubt  they'll  be  ansered  ag'in." 

I  mention  parenthetically  that  John  Kinney,  a  partisan  of 
the  Alsans,  used  to  say,  in  his  tongue-tied  phrase, 

"  We  wath  alwayth  glad  when  old  Hinthon  got  down  on 
hith  kneeth  agin  us.  One  fight  we  had  at  the  Battery,  the 
firth  day  we  had  bad  luck  thomehow,  and  every  chicken  we 
pit  got  whipped.  That  night  old  Hinthon  put  up  one  of 
hith  biggith.  It  were  a  kind  of  camp-meetin'  pra'ar,  or  quar 
terly  meetin',  or  thornethin'  on  that  order  of  buthneth,  and 
he  thanked  Godamighty  that  the  Althins  have  got  one 
good  tholid  whippin'  whith  he  hoped  an'  prayed  might  latht 
'em.  Thore  enough,  the  very  nexth  day  our  chickenth  left 
every  one  of  their'n  dead  in  the  pit,  and  which  go  to  thow 
me  that  Godamighty  don't  ever  lithen  to  seth  prayin',  nor 
don't  condethend  to  have  nothin'  to  do  with  'em." 

Nearest  neighbor  to  Dr.  Hinson  was  Smith  Brookins. 
Smith  was  from  Virginia,  somewhere,  he  did  not  and  cared 
not  to  know  exactly  where ;  but  he  was  proud  of  a  native 
country  that  had  reared  so  many  illustrious  men.  He  used 
to  give  as  an  excuse  for  not  having  become  illustrious  him 
self,  that  his  native  State  was  so  far  ahead  on  that  line  that 
for  one  he  was  willing  to  wait  until  others,  especially  poor 
old  North  Carolina,  could  at  least  make  a  start,  if  without 
hope  of  ever  being  able  to  catch  up.  Mr.  Brookins  either 
believed,  or  affected  to  believe,  that  the  people  in  North 
Carolina  spent  their  time  mainly  in  gathering  resin,  or 
rawsom,  as  he  called  it.  Now,  the  only  use  he  had  ever 


DR.    HINSON'S    DEGREE.  137 


known  rawsom  put  to  was  chewing,  and  of  that  he  admitted 
that  from  a  child  he  had  been  fond.  He  and  Dr.  Hinson 
used  to  have  many  a  discussion  upon  the  relative  impor 
tance  of  their  native  States.  **  The  queschin  'ith  me  is,"  he 
would  say,  "  what  in  the  names  o'  all  creation  people  wants 
'ith  so  much  rawsom.  Do  they  jes'  do  nothin'  but  set  down 
all  the  time,  Hinson,  and  chaw  it?" 

This  question  Mr.  Hinson  had  answered  a  thousand  times, 
more  or  less,  but  he  kept  on  answering  it  until  it  ceased  to 
be  put. 

"  Smith,"  he  would  say,  with  a  solemnity  that  never  tired, 
"the  idee  that  people  done  nothin'  else  on  the  top  o'  the 
ground  but  gather  rawsom,  an'  that  for  nothin'  else  on  the 
good  Lord's  blessed  yearth  but  chawin',  is  what  I  don't 
hardly  believe  they  is  a  man  in  this  whole  country  excep 
tion  o'  you  would  believe.  I  ain't  a-sayin'  anythin'  now 
about  the  tobarker  that  North  Callina  raise,  but  which  it's 
as  good  as  the  very  best  in  old  Virginny.  Nor  I  ain't  a-go- 
in'  to  make  the  slightest  illudin  to  the  wheat,  an  'the  corn, 
an'  the  oats,  an'  the  rye,  an'  the  —  an'  the  —  no,  sir,  I  won't 
even  call  the  names  of  the  ten  thousand  other  things  that 
she  pejuce.  A  man  like  you  couldn't  'member  'em  if  I 
was  to  call  'em.  An'  then  agin,  a  man  that  don't  know 
that  they  is  other  use  for  rawsom  than  the  jes'  a  chawiri1  of 
it,  sech  a  man  ain't  liable  to  have  any  rights  to  be  told  any 
better,  in  spite  o'  the  thousands  an'  the  millions  o'  money 
that  is  made  in  the  getherin'  o'  it."  Such  and  similar  dis 
cussions  were  often  held  between  these  two.  It  was  always 
remarkable  how  interesting  to  each  other  are  men  of  widely 
variant  experiences.  That  of  the  one  serves  often  as  a  foil 
to  whatever  is  wanting  in  the  other.  Although  almost  al 
ways  disputing,  these  neighbors  were  good  friends.  Mr. 
Brookins  often  said  that  he  never  could  understand  how  it 


138 

was  that  lie  liked  as  well  as  anybody  a  man  that  had  come 
out  of  such  a  rawsom  State  as  North  Carolina,  and  Mr.  Hin- 
son,  when  people  would  be  bragging  on  old  Virginia,  would 
refer  to  his  neighbor,  Smith  Brookins,  as  a  fair  specimen  of 
what  that  boastful  State  was  wont  to  produce.  It  was  al 
ways  interesting  to  hear  the  one  in  efforts  to  justify  himself 
for  having  been  born  in  North  Carolina,  and  not  less  so  to 
listen  to  the  other's  apologies  for  not  being  more  competent 
to  represent  in  his  own  career  the  ancestral  glories  of  Vir 
ginia.  The  volume  of  understanding  lay  decidedly  with  the 
North  Carolina  man,  and  its  legitimate  influence  went  along 
after  it.  The  Virginian  was  often  swayed  when  he  was  not 
conscious  of  it,  but  neither  had  ever  so  much  as  dreamed 
that  one  would  ever  become  the  occasion  of  the  other's  at 
tainment  of  a  learned  degree. 

Mr.  Brookins  had  always  been  a  man  of  uncommon  vigor 
and  activity.  He  was  also  industrious  and  thrifty.  If  once 
in  a  while  he  became  what  they  used  to  say  "  disguised  " 
with  one  or  more  over-drinks  of  whiskey  or  peach-brandy, 
he  thought  it  was  nobody's  business.  Nor  did  Mr.  Hinson 
make  this  infirmity  his  business,  for  besides  being  a  liberal 
man  in  his  opinions  of  such  matters,  he  would  take  his  own 
toddy  before  breakfast  or  at  other  convenient  times,  though 
it  was  never  said  of  him  that  he  went  too  far  with  it. 

As  to  how  Mr.  Brookins  received  the  hurt  upon  one  of 
his  legs  that  afterwards  grew  so  serious,  my  recollection  is 
that  it  was  never  definitely  known.  He  always  claimed  that 
it  came  while  he  was  log-rolling  in  his  new  ground,  the  hand- 
stick  slipping  and  grazing  the  skin  to  a  considerable  and 
rather  ragged  extent.  There  were  those  who  said  they  knew 
better  as  to  the  origin,  and  some  went  to  the  extent  of  hint 
ing  that  while  it  may  have  been  true  that  the  injury  was  re 
ceived  in  Mr.  Brookjns's  new  ground,  it  was  at  night,  and 


DR.    HINSON'S    DEGREE.  139 

when  he  had  gotten  there  unintentionally  while  on  his  way 
home  from  a  battalion  muster.  However  it  came,  there  the 
sore  was,  and  there  it  stayed.  After  fair  trial  of  the  oint 
ments  administered  by  several  elderly  ladies  in  the  neigh 
borhood  who  laid  claim  to  skill  in  such  cases,  Mr.  Brookins 
called  in  Dr.  Pepper,  who  said,  after  working  on  him  for 
two  months  without  sensible  improvement,  that  the  difficul 
ty  was  to  get  out  the  poison  that  had  been  put  there  by  old 
women.  One  of  these  being  aunt  to  Mrs.  Brookins,  the  lat- 
ter's  feelings  were  hurt  by  the  remark,  and  through  her  in 
fluence  Dr.  Lancy  was  sent  for.  After  a  three  months'  treat 
ment,  he  said  for  the  fiftieth  time, 

"  Smith,  the  difficulty  with  this  leg  of  yours  is  that  you 
let  another  doctor  (I  shall  mention  no  names)  project  with  it 
too  far.  If  this  leg  had  been  brought  to  me  six  months  ago 
I'd  have  had  you  sound  as  a  dollar  long  ago." 

The  case  was  becoming  very  serious. 

"  That's  the  way  these  doctors  will  talk,"  said  Mrs. 
Brookins  one  day,  both  distressed  and  offended.  "  Dr.  Pep 
per  laid  the  blame  on  '  old  women,'  as  he  call  'em,  when  he 
know  he  were  a-meanin'  mostly  Aunt  'Viny,  which  she  done 
more  for  that  leg  than  ever  did,  an'  left  it  worse  off  than  he 
found  it.  Then  come  Dr.  Lancy,  and  he  lay  the  blame  on 
Dr.  Pepper,  an'  thar  it  is." 

"  An'  yit,"  said  Mr.  Hinson,  who  happened  to  be  there  on 
a  visit,  "  both  them  men  hails  from  old  Virginny,  Smith. 
I  would  of  supposed  that  a  Virginny  doctor  would  be  able 
to  cuore  a  scratch  that  a  feller  got  on  his  leg  jest  accidental 
that  way.  I  thought  Old  Virginny  doctors  was  enough  for 
whatsomever  waouns  and  diseases  might  happen  to  the  hu 
man  family  of  all  mankind." 

Then  the  man  actually  laughed. 

Such    apparent  heartlessness   would   have    offended  Mr. 
10 


140  DR.  HINSON'S  DEGREE. 

Brookins  except  for  the  freedom  of  his  and  his  visitor's  in 
tercourse,  and  the  assurance  he  felt  that  there  was  no  want 
of  sympathy.  Besides,  Mrs.  Brookins's  mother  was  a  North 
Carolina  woman,  who  was  not  only  not  ashamed,  but  was 
proud  of  her  native  State.  So  Mr.  Ilinson  felt  himself  to 
be,  as  he  was,  perfectly  safe  in  the  utterance  of  these  words. 

"  Well,  Hinson,"  said  Mr.  Brookins,  petulantly,  "  dadfetch 
it,  what's  a  feller  to  do  ?" 

"  Can't  you  ast  a  queschin  'ithout  cussin',  Smith,  an'  'spe 
cial'  on  sech  a  serous  subjick?" 

"I  didn't  know  'dadfetch  it'  was  cussin'." 

"You  didn't?  Well,  sech  as  that  is  all  cussin',  an'  it's  a 
sin,  an'  'special'  it's  a  sin  'ith  them  that  has  the  sore  leg  that 
a  Virginny  doctor,  two  of  'em  at  that,  can't  cuore,  an'  which 
I  tell  you  now,  and  I  tell  Missis  Brookins,  which  is  your 
own  blessed  wife,  that  if  that  leg  ain't  cuored,  an'  that  in  no 
long  time,  it'll  have  to  be  took  off." 

"  My  laws  of  mercies  !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Brookins  ;  "  in  the 
name  of  goodness,  what  are  we  to  do  ?" 

"  I  can  cuore  it  in  five  minutes  arfter  I  git  fixed  for  it," 
he  answered,  with  as  cool  indifference  as  if  he  would  have 
said  that  he  could  walk  to  his  own  home,  a  mile  distant. 

"  Whyn't  you  done  it,  then  ?"  demanded  Mr.  Brookins. 

"  You  never  ast  me." 

"  I  didn't  know  you  was  a  doctor." 

"  Nor  I  ain't;  but  I  seen  too  many  o'  them  kind  o'  things 
in  North  Callina  not  to  know  egzact  what  that  leg  o' 
yourn  need.  People  that  spends  their  time  much  in  the 
woods  a  getherin'  turpentine  is  liable  to  jes'  sech  accidents 
as  yourn  every  constant,  an'  they  don't  have  to  go  to  Old 
Virginny  nor  send  for  a  doctor  from  thar  to  have  'em  'tend 
ed  to  ;  but  they  'tend  to  'em  theirselves." 

"How — name  o'  goodness  ! — how,  Hinson  ?" 


141 

"That's  jes'  what  I'm  not  goin'  to  tell  you." 

His  indifference  seemed  cooler  even  than  at  first. 

"  Why  won't  you  tell  him,  Mr.  Hinson  ?"  asked  the  wife, 
in  a  tone  that  showed  she  was  hurt. 

"  Because,  Mrs.  Brooldns,  Smith  Brookins  's  not  goin'  to 
'tend  to  hisself  the  way  I  tell  him.  Fact,  he  couldn't." 

"  Well,  couldn't  I  ?" 

He  reflected  a  moment  and  then  dubiously  answered, 

"  Well  —  ah — n  -  no,  ma'am,  Missis  Brookins,  I  don't 
think — I  rnther  think  you  couldn't." 

"  Well,  my  opinion  is,"  said  Mr.  Brookins,  wishing  to  be 
satirical,  "  that  a  preacher  of  the  Gospel,  ef  he  have  no  feel- 
in's  in  genii,  ought  to  try  to  have  some  little  feelin's  for  a 
man  in  my  fix." 

"  It  ain't  a  queschin  o'  feelin's,  Smith  Brookins.  I  mayn't 
have  enough  o'  them  to  suit  you,  but  that's  my  lookout.  The 
queschin,  as  I  understand  it  now,  is,  Do  you  want  me  to  cuore 
that  leg  o'  your'n  ;  an',  if  so  be,  will  you  let  me  do  it  in  my 
way  ?" 

"Of  course  he  will,  Mr.  Hinson.  I'll  see  that  he  do," 
said  the  wife. 

"  All  right ;  I'll  go  home  an'  fix,  an'  be  here  in  an  hour." 

"No  foolishness,  Hinson.  This  ain't  a  case  for  rawsom- 
chavvin'  ner  doin'  anythin'  else  'ith  your  old  North  Callina 
projeckins." 

"  Ain't  it  astonishin',  Missis  Brookins,  the  ign'ance  o' 
some  people?  Why,  your  own  blessed  mother  can  tell 
Smith  Brookins  that  they  is  men  in  North  Callina  whose 
mainest  business  is  to  gether  rawsom,  as  he  call  it,  that 
could  buy  out  fifty  such  men  as  Smith  Brookins  an'  not 
miss  the  money  out  o'  their  pocket-book.  But  that  don't 
hender  him  from  bein'  liable  to  have  that  leg  cuored,  which 
if  it  ain't  done  it'll  have  to  be  took  off,  an'  then,  when  his 


142  DK.   HINSON S    DEGREE. 

wife  take  a  notion  to  run  away  from  him,  won't  it  be  a 
sight,  him  a  hoppin'  arter  to  ketch  her?" 

This  joke  put  all  in  good-humor.  Within  the  time  set 
Mr.  Hinson  returned,  riding  his  white  mare,  Snowy. 

"  What's  that  the  handle  of  a-pokin'  out  o'  your  pocket, 
Hinson  ?"  asked  Mr.  Brookins. 

"  Never  you  mind :  it's  one  of  my  apparatuses.  Smith 
Brookins,  what  I'm  goin'  to  do  '11  hurt  for  jes'  about  two 
minutes  and  three-quarters  and  no  longer ;  an'  to  do  this 
job  effecuil,  I  got  to  lay  you  on  your  back  on  the  work 
bench  thar  by  the  kitchen,  an'  then  I  got  to  tie  your  hands 
and  the  foot  o'  your  game  leg,  an'  then  blindfold  you." 

"  No,  sir ;  no,  sir." 

"All  right;  good-mornin'  to  you  both.  When  the  leg 
is  took  off,  Missis  Brookins,  I  hope,  as  Smith  have  no 
Christian  fortichndes,  he'll  leastway  a-try  to  bear  it  well 
as  sech  a  man  ken.  Good-mornin'  to  you  both." 

As  he  was  turning  to  depart,  Mrs.  Brookins  earnestly 
besought  her  husband  to  submit,  as  it  did  seem  to  be  the 
only  chance  to  save  his  limb.  At  length  he  yielded  to  her 
entreaties,  after  repeated  solemn  assurance  from  Mr.  Hinson 
that  there  was  no  danger  nor  very  prolonged  pain  to  be 
incurred  from  the  treatment,  and  that  he  should  be  released 
almost  immediately  after  its  performance.  He  had  to  sub 
mit  to  a  further  requisition  that  his  wife  was  to  remain  in 
the  house  until  called  for. 

When  the  patient  had  been  tied,  blindfolded,  and  laid  on 
his  back  upon  the  work-bench,  the  physician,  entering  the 
kitchen,  dismissed  the  cook,  took  from  his  pocket  a  small 
ladle  which,  after  putting  a  small  piece  of  tallow  into  it,  he 
set  on  the  burning  coals.  Returning,  he  made,  with  a  pan 
of  water,  mud  from  the  clay,  and  began  applying  it  circular 
ly  around  the  wound. 


143 

"  Gee-er-roos-rooslum !  Hinson,"  said  the  prostrate  man, 
"  that's  co-cold  as  thunder.  What  in  the  dickence  is  you  a 
doin'  ?  I  never  'spected  to  be,  that  is  not  quite,  in  the  fix 
I  am  now." 

"  Yes,  Smith  Brookins,"  answered  Mr.  Hinson,  rather  se 
verely.  "  I  knowed  it  would  feel  cool.  But  my  intentions 
is  to  try  an'  take  off  in  about  two  minutes  an'  a  half  some 
of  the  aige  o'  the  cold.  What  I  am  doin'  for  the  present  is 
makin'  around  your  waounds,  bruises,  as  the  Scripter  says, 
an'  purtefyin'  soreses,  is  a  kind  of  a  wolcano,  but  which  you 
in  your  ign'ance  would  call  a  doodle-hole.  I  has  no  father 
remarks  to  make  on  that  head  of  my  present  disco'se." 

When  the  volcano  was  finished  Mr.  Hinson  returned  to 
the  kitchen,  took  the  ladle  off  the  coals,  swiftly  yet  without 
precipitation  returned  to  the  work-bench,  and  then —  But 
there  WMS  wisdom  in  the  advice  given  by  Horace  to  the 
young  Pisos  not  to  bring  everything  before  the  public.  I 
confine  myself  to  reporting  a  few  remarks. 

"  When  I  heard  the  shout,"  said  Dave  Towns,  a  half-mile 
neighbor,  "  I  says  to  my  wife,  *  That's  Smith  Brookins's 
woices,  an'  somethin's  gone  wrong  over  thar  cert'n  shore.'  " 

Jim  Lary,  who  was  yet  farther  on  beyond  Little  Ogee- 
chee,  said,  "Upon  my  heart  an'  soul,  the  sound  o'  Smith 
Brookins's  hollerin' — well,  all  I  can  say  is,  when  Mr.  Hinson 
come  gallopin'  along  from  thar  it  seem  to  me  he  were  what 
them  preachers  call  death  on  a  white  horse.  I  couldn't  but 
ast  him  to  pause  for  a  few  minutes  an'  norate  the  awful 
skene.  Coold  as  a  cowcumber  he  stop  and  say,  'Jim,  the 
de-ficulty  'ith  Smith  were  his  leg,  which,  as  you  know,  no 
body  could  do  nothin'  with.  Him  an'  his  wife  is  people  I 
like  spite  o'  Smith's  everlastin'  pedigices  agin  things  he 
know  nothin'  about.  But  I  see  that  leg  o'  his'n  have  to  be 
cuored  or  took  off,  an'  I  knowed  the  ways  the  doctor  was 


144  DR.    HINSON'S    DEGREE. 

a-doin'  'ith  her,  she  were  obleeged  to  go.  So,  accordin'  to  his 
request  an'  his  wife's,  I  took  her  in  hand,  an'  I  burnt  her  out 
'ith  hot  toller.  I  told  Mrs.  Brookins  that  I  has  conwerted  the 
vvaound  on  Smith's  leg  to  nothin'  on  the  top  o'  the  ground 
but  a  burn ;  an'  that  she  know  for  herself  that  nobody  were 
better  than  her  own  blessed  Aunt  Viny  on  them.  Say  you 
heerd  Smith?  I  ain't  a-wonderin'.  His  woice  split  the 
very  a'r  o'  heaven,  an'  as  for  his  cussin',  I  dare  not  try  to 
remunerate  them.  But  Smith  Brookins's  goin'  to  love  me 
next  to  his  wife  and  children  ;  you  see  if  he  don't.'  " 

The  prediction  was  verified,  for  the  cure  was  complete. 
The  resuscitated  invalid,  when  he  next  met  the  man  who 
had  cured  him,  called  him  "  Doctor  Ilinson,"  and  the  title 
remained  with  him  ever  afterwards. 

One  day  Mr.  Lary  asked  of  Mr.  Brookins,  seeing  him  kick 
ing  playfully  with  his  new  leg,  "It  must  of  ben  awful  as- 
tonishin,'  Smith.  How  did  you  feel  when  he  were  einptin' 
his  hot  toller  on  you?  What  did  you  think  it  were?" 

"  As  for  feelin's,  Jim,  no  use  a  feller  try  in'  to  tell  his  fecl- 
in's  when  he  find  hisself  an'  in  the  dark  a  fryin'  same  as  a 
rasher  o'  bak'n.  My  wife  say  she  hope  I  won't  be  hilt 
'sponsible  for  all  the  cussin'  I  done  before  Hinson  have  set 
on  old  Snowy  an'  galloped  off.  As  for  what  I  thought  of 
what  he  put  on  me,  well,  I  knovved  it  were  fire,  an'  for  a 
minute  I  thought  it  were  also  brimstone." 


THE  MEDIATIONS  OF 

MR.  ARCHIE   KITTRELL. 


"  And  tbanne  with  here  scharpe  speris  stronge 
They  foyneden  ech  at  othei1."—  The  Knigktes  Tale. 

I. 

THE  traditions  respecting  the  origin  of  the  name  "  Hello" 
of  a  certain  militia  district  in  one  of  the  older  counties  of 
Middle  Georgia  are  so  ancient  and  variant  that  I  do  not  feel 
myself  called  upon,  at  least  in  this  connection,  to  recite 
them.  My  present  purpose  is  to  tell  of  a  few  persons  resi 
dent  therein  at  a  period  many  years  back,  while  Josiah  Co- 
field,  Esq.,  presided  in  the  Justice's  Court.  This  magistrate 
had  long  considered  himself  as  familiar  as  any  judge  need 
be  with  principles  governing  judicial  trials.  The  drift  of 
cases  wherein  his  rulings  had  been  reversed  on  certiorari 
to  the  Superior  Court  had  been  mainly  in  the  line  of  ex 
ceptions  taken  to  his  jurisdiction,  about  the  limits  of  which 
he  was  suspected  to  be  not  without  the  jealousy  common 
to  all  tribunals  not  the  highest.  His  temptation  to  over 
step  was  perhaps  enhanced  by  an  enormous  fondness  for  his 
court  costs.  It  was  his  habit,  therefore,  to  put  upon  his 
docket  all  cases  brought  by  persons  known  by  him  to  be 
responsible  for  these,  without  concerning  himself  about  the 
eventual  disposition  of  the  condemnation-money. 


140       THE    MEDIATIONS    OF    Mli.    ARCHIE    K1TTEELL. 

I  make  these  observations  regarding  him  preparatory  to 
the  introduction  of  some  persons  of  yet  more  importance. 

Fully  a  mile  above,  owner  of  a  considerable  body  of  land, 
extending  as  far  as  the  fork  where  William's  and  Turkev 
creeks  merge  their  waters  and  their  names  in  Long  Creek, 
dwelt  Mr.  Archie  Kittrell,  now  well  spent  in  years,  yet  with 
gratifying  remains  of  strength  and  activity,  bodily  and  men 
tal.  His  estate  was  bounded  on  the  east  by  Turkey  Creek 
and  the  Peevys,  on  the  west  by  William's  and  the  Tem- 
plins. 

It  had  been  fortunate  heretofore,  for  both  the  Peevys  and 
Templins,  that  such  a  man  as  Archie  Kittrell  resided  be 
tween  them.  In  a  hill  region  the  number  is  limited  of 
those  who  can  live  persistently,  without  any  hurt  to  friend 
ly  neighborhood,  on  opposite  sides  of  a  creek-line.  A  be 
nevolent  and  usually  a  remarkably  calm  man  was  Mr.  Kit 
trell,  although  it  was  known  that  he  could  become  excited 
on  occasion.  For  very  many  years  he  had  held  not  only 
peaceful  but  most  friendly  relations  with  these  neighbors, 
in  spite  of  the  varying  channels  that  the  two  streams  often 
made  before  reaching  the  confluence  where  the  Long  began 
its  straightforward,  determined  course  to  the  Ogeechee.  He 
put  his  fences  sufficiently  behind  high-water  mark,  and  in 
stead  of  complaining  of  infringements  upon  doubtful  riparian 
soil,  he  was  often  known  to  express  placid  sympathy  when 
the  Tern  pi  in  or  the  Peevy  fence,  on  occasions  of  extraordi 
nary  rains,  would  resolve  itself  into  its  constituent  elements, 
and  every  rail  go  madly  rushing  in  search  of  more  reliable 
shores.  Both  Mr.  Ternplin  and  Mr.  Peevy  had  deceased 
some  years  age  ;  but  their  relicts  were  women  of  much  en 
ergy,  and  with  aid  of  the  counsels  of  their  intermediate 
friend  managed  their  estates  to  much  advantage. 

What  separated  these   ladies  yet  further  than  the  two 


THE    MEDIATIONS    OF    MR.    ARCHIE    KITTRELL.        147 

creeks  was  their  difference  in  religious  faith.  Three  miles 
north  of  the  fork  stood  the  William's  Creek  Baptist  Church, 
so  named  partly  from  its  geographical  position,  but  mainly, 
as  was  suggested  by  one  of  the  deacons  at  its  foundation, 
because,  like  Enon  of  old,  there  was  much  water  there.  One 
mile  south  of  the  fork,  on  a  high  land,  at  the  foot  of  which 
was  a  noble  spring  of  water,  was  the  Methodist  meeting 
house,  younger  than  its  rival,  and  weaker  in  membership. 
Its  name  was  Big  Spring. 

The  Templins  worshipped  at  the  upper,  and  the  Peevys 
at  the  lower  house.  Both  these  ladies  were  pronounced  in 
doctrinal  opinions,  and  therefore  neither  visited  the  other 
often,  though  each  was  very  familiar  at  the  Kittrells's.  If 
they  had  been  of  the  same  religious  faith,  they  must  have 
been  cordial  friends.  As  it  was,  each  must  sometimes  warm 
into  temporary  resentment  when  one  would  hear  of  unchari 
table  words  expressed  by  the  other  concerning  herself  or  her 
meeting-house.  It  had  been  observed  that  such  misun 
derstandings  had  increased  considerably  of  late,  and  nota 
bly  since  Miss  Priscilla  Mattox  had  been  sojourning  in  the 
neighborhood. 

Whatever  worship  the  Kittrells  did  was  mainly  beneath 
their  own  vine.  Mr.  Kittrell,  his  wife,  and  his  two  sons, 
William  and  Joseph  (always  called  Buck  and  Jodie),  attend 
ed  service  at  both  meeting-houses,  and  though  not  profess 
ors,  were  as  good  respecters  of  religion  as  the  best.  Hopes 
had  been  indulged,  I  dare  not  say  how  long,  by  the  Will 
iam's  Creek  people  that  Mrs.  Kittrell,  whose  mother  in  her 
time  was  a  Baptist,  might  feel  it  her  duty,  before  it  would 
be  too  Jate,  to  knock  at  their  door. 

"As  perfect  a  patron  of  a  woman  as  is,"  Mrs.  Templin 
would  often  say,  "ef  she  were  jest  only  a  Babtis,  and  which 
she  can't  but  be  oblecged  to  know  it's  her  juty  to  foller  her 


148       THE    MEDIATIONS    OF    MR.    ARCHIE    KITTRELL. 

own  blessed  mother  that  she  can  have  no  doubts  of  her  be 
ing  of  now  a  saint  in  heaven." 

As  for  Mr.  Kittrell,  who  was  at  least  a  score  of  years  older 
than  his  wife,  it  was  quite  possible  that  some  of  the  delay 
in  his  Church  affiliation  was  due  to  the  thoughtful  apprehen 
sion  that  any  action  in  that  matter  so  pronounced  on  the 


JODIE    WAS    FOND    OF   VISITING. 


THE    MEDIATIONS    OF    Mli.    AKCHIE    K1TTRELL.       149 

part  of  so  great  a  man  might  impart  to  the  denomination 
with  which  he  should  connect  himself  a  preponderance  that 
might  operate  discouragingly  upon  the  other,  particularly  in 
the  case  of  his  two  nearest  neighbors.  His  views  and  ex 
pectations  in  this  behalf,  thus  far,  had  not  become  known 
to  the  public,  who  were  wont  to  speculate  that  avowed  opin 
ions  and  definite  action  would  depend,  if  ever  to  exist  at 
all,  upon  accidents  possible  to  occur  on  the  borders  of  the 
two  creeks.  The  lads — Buck,  nearly  twenty-one,  and  Jodie, 
turned  of  nineteen — not  only  went  habitually  to  both  meet 
ing-houses,  but  they  were  specially  fond  of  visiting  at  the 
Templin  and  Peevy  mansions.  For  this  fondness  no  per 
son  ever  could  have  had  the  face  to  blame  them  ;  no  person, 
I  mean,  who  had  seen  and  known  what  fine  girls  were  Caro 
line  Templin,  aged  sixteen,  and  Sarah  Ann  Peevy,  fifteen 
years,  each  only  surviving  child  and  heir-presumptive  of  her 

mother. 

II. 

Although  nobody  ever  had  any  doubt  as  to  the  pride  that 
Mr.  Kittrell  had  in  his  wife,  his  two  sons,  and  his  fine  plan 
tation  so  snug  in  the  fork,  yet  this  pride  was  never  or  sel 
dom  a  matter  of  distinct  public  avowal.  Not  so  that  he 
felt  in  being  nigh  neighbor  to  such  women  as  Mrs.  Temp] in 
and  Mrs.  Peevy. 

"  A  couple  of  as  fine  females  and  widders  as  any  man 
mout  ever  express  his  desires  to  go  anywheres,  makes  no  de- 
fuerence  wheres,  and  locate  hisself,  and  settle  hisself,  and  live 
neighbor  to  the  said  female  persons  as  I've  done  every  sense 
ary  one  or  both  o'  their  husbands  took  sick  and  diseased" 
from  this  mortual  speres.  One  of  'em's  a  Babtuis,  and  the 
tother  a  Methudis,  and  thar  they're  both  as  solid  as  two  bricks 
sot  in  mortar  in  two  sip'rate  chimblies  ;  but  nother  that  ncr 
them  benders  nary  one  of  'em  from  of  bein'  of  two  as  fine 


150       THE    MEDIATIONS    OF    MK.    AKCHIE    K1TTRELL. 

females  and  widders  as  this  county,  nor  as  to  that,  this  whole 
State  o'  Georgy,  can  pejuce.  Ef  they  wants,  and  it's  thar 
desires  to  stand  up  to  thar  vvarous  Churches,  and  they  feels  it 
thar  juty  to  argy  for  'em,  whose  bisuiness  is  it  to  hender 


"AND  IM  A-NAMIN'  o'  NO  NAMES." 

'em  ?  and  speshual  them  that  takes  it  on  theirselves  (and  I'm 
a-namin'  o'  no  names)  to  go  about  a-repeatin'  of  what  one 
have  said  about  the  tother,  and  her  sanctufication  and  her 
fallin'  from  grace,  and  what  the  tother  say  in  respects  of 
her  finual  pesseveunce  o'  the  saints,  and  her  dippin'  or  her 


THE    MEDIATIONS    OF    MR.    ARCHIE    KITTRELL.       151 

pourin'  o'  water,  mo'  or  less  ?  Ef  people  'd  keep  thar  mouth 
shct  about  them  two  fine  wimrning  (and  'member,  I'm  a-nam- 
in'  o'  no  names),  they'd  be  as  friendly  'ith  one  'nother  as 
they  both  are  and  is  'ith  my  wife ;  and  anyhow,  I  say  it 
open  and  above  board,  I  knows  not  ner  I  don't  know  the 
equils  o'  them  nor  nary  one  of  'em.  And,  as  for  Calline  t 
Templing  and  Sarann  Peevy,  ef  I  wer'n't  a  ole  man  as  I  am, 
an'  already  got  my  quimpanion,  my  opinions  o'  them  chil- 
dern  is,  I  wouldn't  posuitive,  I  wouldn't  know  how  ner  when 
ner  which  to  forbar." 

Benevolent,  calm  man  as  was  Mr.  Kittrell,  he  had  withal 
an  eye  ever  watchful  for  the  interests  of  his  family.  That 
eye,  for  many  years,  had  been  growing  more  and  more  watch 
ful  until  now,  when  he  was  sure  in  his  mind  that  the  time 
had  come  for  him  and  his  boys  to  move  towards  the  consum 
mation  of  a  project  that  was  the  very  nearest  to  his  heart. 
From  time  to  time  he  had  sounded  Buck  and  Jodie  together 
and  apart.  He  was  delighted  with  the  exquisite  modesty 
and  slyness  with  which  he  had  discovered  to  them  his  own 
plans,  and  the  facility  which  they,  dutiful,  splendid  boys  as 
they  were,  suffered  themselves  to  be  put  forward  by  himself. 
But  he  knew  that  they  were  very  young,  and  somehow  both, 
especially  Jodie,  had  inherited  rather  more  of  their  mother's 
sentiment  and  artlessness  than  he  considered  quite  well  for 
perfectly  successful  careers,  in  what  he  would  have  styled 
"  in  a  bisniness  pint  of  view,"  and  that  his  own  aged  and 
wise  head  must  take  the  lead.  He  always  talked  freely  with 
his  wife,  who  was  a  woman  of  few  words,  and  whom  he  well 
knew  to  have  been  ever  thankful  for  having  married,  when 
a  poor  girl,  a  man  of  his  property  and  intelligence,  and  there 
fore  was  a  most  faithful  recipient  of  his  confidences. 

"  I  jes'  tell  you,  Jincy,  what  the  fact  o'  the  bisuiness  is. 
The  good  Lord  never  flung  these  three  plantations  in  the 


152        THE    MEDIATIOXS    OF    MR.    ARCHIE    KITTRELL. 

sitieooation  they  are,  and  is  and  has  been  every  sense  I've 
knowed  'em,  and  a-diwidued  out  the  childern  that's  now  arc 
of  a-waitin'  to  be  thar  ars  and  egzekitors,  so  to  speak  o'  the 
case  at  the  present  bare,  'ithont  he'd  of  had  some  mean  in' 
of  His  idees  along  of  all  up  an'  down,  in  an'  out,  along  both 
o*  the  banks  o'thera  crooked  an'  oncertain  meanduerin  creeks. 
For  I  hain't  the  littlest  idee  myself  but  what  lie  have  f reek- 
went  got  tired  o'  hearin'  o'  theeverulastin'  fussin's  o'  people 
that  has  creek-lines  both  betwix'  an'  between,  and  no  yeend 
of  'sputin'  about  water-gaps,  and  stock  a-breakin'  in  bottom 
fields,  and  which,  tweren't  I  were  a  peasuable  man,  I  mout 
of  been  cats  and  dogs  with  both  them  wimming;  and  they 
ain't  no  doubt  about  it  in  my  mind  but  what  these  three 
plantations  oughtn'  to  be — finally,  I  mean — they  oughtn't  to 
be — but  two,  with  the  lines  a-tuck  off  n  them  creeks  and  run 
into  one  line  hiijh  and  dry  plump  through  the  middle  o'  this 
one,  and  Buck,  him  a-havin'  o'  the  Turkey  Creek  side,  and 
Jodie,  him  the  Williamses,  when  in  co'se  my  head  and  yourn 
git  cold,  and  the  famblies,  both  they  and  them  and  Buck  and 
Jodie,  a-nunited  and  jinded  together  in  sich  a  jint  and — well, 
I  would  not  say  compactions  way,  that  nobody  nor  nothin' 
exceptions  o'  death  er  debt  could  never  sip'rate  'en  no  mo' 
ner  never  henceforrards.  And  it's  perfec'  plain  to  my  mind 
— for  I've  been  a-pickin'  all  of  around  of  both  o'  them  boys, 
and  it's  perfec'  plain  to  my  mind  that  they  both  has  and 
have  the  same  priminary  idees,  only  they're  nary  one  o'  the 
pnshin1  kind  o'  bovs,  I  would  of  some  of  rather  of  saw,  and 
in  which  they  don't  take  arfter  the  Kittrells  quite  as  much 
as  I  should  desires,  and  mo'  arfter  the  Kitchcnses;  not  that, 
as  you  monstrous  well  knows,  my  dear  honey,  that  my  wife 
were  a  Kitchens,  and  no  man  never  got  a  better,  but  which 
a-not-'ithunderstandin'  them  boys  is  the  obeduentest  and 
splendidenest  boys  in  this  county,  and  them  wimming  and 


THE    MEDIATIONS    OF    MR.    ARCHIE    K1TTRELL.        153 

them  gals  is  obleeged  to  know  the  same,  only  it's  a  mailer 
that  need  pushin',  because  they're  all  grownded,  at  leastways 
in  size,  and  it's  a  marter  that  it  ain't  to  be  kep?  a-puttin' 
off." 

Mrs.  Kittrell  listened  with  the  usual  profound  deference 
to  her  husband,  and  ventured  only  a  remark  that  they  were 
all  very  young-,  and  that,  as  for  her  part,  her  ideas  had  al 
ways  been  that  marriages  were  made  in  heaven. 

Mr.  Kittrell  smiled  benevolently  at  suggestions  that  he 
knew  were  not  intended  to  be  pressed,  and  revolved  how  he 
was  to  begin.  At  supper  that  night  he  grew  more  assured 
than  ever  when  Buck  had  so  much  to  say  in  special  praise 
of  the  Turkey  Creek  side.  Jodie  said  but  little  about  either 
of  the  girls.  But  Mr.  Kittrell  knew  the  peculiar  modesty 
of  Jodie.  Besides,  intending  himself  to  lead  in  the  impor 
tant  enterprise,  he  did  not  know  but  what  he  rather  pre 
ferred  not  to  be  embarrassed  by  too  great  a  multitude  of 
counsel,  even  in  his  own  family. 

"  But,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Kittrell,  when  Buck  and  Jodie 
had  retired,  "  hadn't  we  better  let  them  boys  manage  for 
theirselves?  Because  I'm  not  shore — " 

"  My  dear  Jincy,"  interrupted  Mr.  Kittrell,  not  impatient 
ly,  but  with  the  decisiveness  of  tone  which  a  great  man  em 
ploys  when  he  is  talking  with  an  inferior  being.  "  WE — 
ves ;  we.  You'll  have  to  keep  still  as  a  mouse,  and  lay 
low.  This  here  case  take  a_man  o'  expeunce  and  obserwa- 
tion,  and  it  won't  do  to  be  meddled  with.  You  don't  mean 
to  insinooate  that  them  boys  ain't  speshual  fond  o'  them 
gals,  Jincy  ?" 

"Oh  no  ;  but  I  ain't  adzactly  made  up  in  my  mind  as  to 
which — " 

"'Nough  said,"  Mr.  Kittrell  again  interrupted,  waving  his 
hand.  "  Stick  a  pin  right  thar,  and  keep  her  stuck ;  lay 


154       THE    MEDIATIONS    OF    MR.   ARCHIE    KITTRELL. 

low  and  wait  and  see  what  a  man  o'  expeunce  and  obser- 
wation  can  do." 

It  would  not  be  possible  to  express  the  kind  condescen 
sion  with  which  these  words  were  uttered.  The  conscious 
ness  of  being  one  of  the  greatest  of  mankind  was  not  able 
to  make  Mr.  Archie  Kittrell  forget  what  was  due  to  the 

mother  of  his  children. 

III. 

On  the  following  day  Mr.  Kittrell  rode  extensively  over 
his  domain.  He  had  been  heard  often  to  say  that  of  the 
thinking  he  had  done — and  he  might  go  far  enough  to  say 
that,  in  his  opinion,  his  friends  and  neighbors  would  bear 
him  out  in  claiming  to  have  done  a  right  smart  of  thinking 
in  his  day  and  generation — the  biggest  part  had  been  done 
on  horseback.  On  this  day,  therefore,  he  made  what  he 
would  have  styled  a  perusual  of  his  whole  plantation,  after 
which  he  crossed  both  creeks  consecutively  on  visits  to  his 
nearest  neighbors. 

"  And  how  is  Missuis  Templing  this  fine  mornin'  like  ? 
Busy,  I  see ;  busy  as  a  bee,  if  she'll  take  the  rhyme  in  time, 
though  I  don't  but  sildom  make  'em,  at  leastways  not  in- 
tentual.  And  whar's  jCalline?  Gone  to  see  Sarann,  eh? 
All  right,  bless  her  heart.  Look  so  well,  neighbors'  children 
a-wisitin,  when  they  too  busy  and  too  much  occuepied  to 
wisit  thai-selves." 

Mrs.  Templin,  now  about  fifty  years  of  age,  stout  and 
comely,  was  noted  for  good  house-keeping  and  hospitality. 
If  she  was  somewhat  aggressive  in  the  matter  of  her  relig 
ious  faith,  it  was,  as  she  often  candidly  contended,  from  no 
reason  on  the  good  Lord's  blessed  earth,  but  because  she 
pitied  the  ign'ance  and  predigice  of  people  who,  if  they 
ever  took  the  Bible  into  their  hands,  it  seemed  like  they 
could  never  learn  where  to  open  and  how  to  read  it.  She 


THE    MEDIATIONS    OF    MR.   ARCHIE    KITTRELL.        155 

had  been  heard  often  to  admit  that  but  for  Mrs.  Peevy's  ig- 
n'ance,  but  'specially  her  predigice,  she  would  be  a  great 
deal  better  person  than  herself  was  or  ever  hoped  to  be. 
As  for  the  Kittrells,  she  believed  in  her  heart  that  their  be 
coming  Baptists  was  only  a  question  of  time,  when,  as  she 
was  wont  to  express  it,  they  could  see  their  way  clear  to 
mansions  in  the  skies. 


"SOFT-HEARTED  WOMAN  AS  MRS.  TEMPLIN  WAS." 


I  may  not  delay  to  repeat  all  the  conversation  of  the  oc 
casion  of  the  visit.  What  dwelling  Mr.  Kittrell  made  long 
est  was  when  he  spoke  of  his  own  great  age,  now  sixty-eight, 
and  a-going  on  to  sixty-nine,  and  the  provision  a  man  at  his 
time  of  life  might  naturally  be  expected  to  wish  to  make 
for  his  children.  There  is  a  pathos  which  parents  are  gifted 
withal  when  speaking  fondly  of  those  dearest  to  them  that 
sensibly  affects  persons  even  less  responsive  than  Mrs.  Tern- 
11 


156       THE    MEDIATIONS    OF    MR.   ARCHIE    KITTRELL. 

plin.  She  felt  for  her  handkerchief  more  than  once,  and 
not  finding  it,  tenderly  drew  up  a  corner  of  her  apron. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  continued  the  father.  "  I'm  a  gittin'  of  what 
ef  a  body  moutn't  call  old,  they'd  go  as  fur  as  to  call  at 
leastways  aijuable,  and  it  'pears  like  that  as  I'm  the  onlest 
father  them  boys  has  got — " 

Soft-hearted  woman  as  Mrs.  Templin  was,  her  apron  cpuld 
not  but  do  its  becoming  service  at  this  tender  pause. 

"  Now,  Jodie,"  Mr.  Kittrell  resumed,  when  he  felt  that  he 
had  partially  recovered  his  strength,  "  as  for  Jodie,  it  seem 
like  that  boy — boy  I  calls  him,  but  he  feel  like  he's  a  man, 
Jodie  do;  and  which  it  weren't  no  longer'n  last  Sadday,  I 
see  him  with  my  own  eyes  fling  down  Buck  in  a  wrastle, 
and  Buck  sav  Jodie's  the  onlest  man  in  the  county,  white 
or  black,  that  can  put  his  back  to  the  ground — now,  Jodie, 
I  spishuons,  he  have  a  likin'  for  this  here  side  o'  the  planta 
tion,  and  I  have  notussed  that  he  'pearantly  some  ruther  go 
to  William's  Creek  than  Big  Spring,  while,  I  ain't  shore  in 
my  mind,  but  my  spishuons  of  Buck  is  and  are  of  his  bein' 
of  a  Turkey  Creek  man,  and  possuable  a  Big  Springer.  Now, 
when  Jodie  want  to  settle  hisself,  and  a  not  with  of  under- 
standin',  Jodie  is  a  silence  an'  a  by  no  means  of  a  pushin' 
of  a  b-b — but  I  s'posen  I  has  got  to  call  him  a  young  man 
now,  sence  he's  the  onlest  man  any  whars  about  that  can 
put  Buck  Kittrell's  back  to  the  ground,  and  has  the  idees 
of  a  man  in  the  bargain — my  opinions  is,  Jodie  is  arfter  a 
settlement  o'  some  kind ;  and  I'll  have  to  lay  off  a  toler'ble 
siz'able  piece  o'  the  plantation  next  to  and  a-jinden  of  you 
an'  Calline,  an'  you  an'  Jodie  an'  Calline  '11  have  to  settle 
it  betwixt  you  three  the  same  as  me  an'  you  has  an'  have 
done  about  gates  an'  water-gaps.  An'  a-speakin'  o'  Calline, 
I  do  think,  upon  my  soul,  I  never  see  a  daughter  mo'  like  a 
mother  in  every  respects,  though  I  were  never  a  person  that 


THE    MEDIATIONS    OF    MR.    ARCHIE    KITTRELL.        157 

in  the  payin'  o'  cornpuments  to  female  wimming,  and  spe- 
shual  them  that  kyars  thar  age  like  some  I've  knowed,  to 
actilly  name  names.  And,  as  for  Jodie — Jodie  Kittrell  I'm 
a-talkin'  about  now — well,  Jincy  say,  and  she's  a  relijuouser 
person  'n  what  I  am,  she  give  it  as  her  'pinuons  that  mar 
riages  is  made  in  heaven  ;  and  ef  so  be  it,  I  can't  but  hope 
the  good  Lord  won't  send  Jodie,  who,  'twaVt  for  me  he'd 
be  a  orphing,  too  fur  and  too  illconwenant  from  home  for 
his  quimpanions." 

Then  he  cast  a  brief  melancholy  look  towards  the  far 
distance  adown  Long  Creek.  But  it  was  too  forlorn  for  a 
father  so  fond  and  aged,  so  he  withdrew  his  eyes,  and  fixed 
them,  with  soft  appealing,  upon  Mrs.  Templin. 

"  And  I  don't  think,"  she  said  to  her  daughter  that  night, 
on  her  return  from  the  Peevys',  "  nor  neither  do  I  believe, 
that  I  ever  see  a  person  more  'fectionate  as  a  parrent,  and 
more  fittin',  ef  he  jest  only  see  his  way  cle'r,  to  give  up  and 
give  in  a  expeunce  and  march  straight  into  Rock-hole  pool ; 
and  what  he  said,  Calline,  of  me  an'  you  of  bein'  of  adzack- 
ly  alike — well,  my  ap'on — for  I  had  drap'  my  hankercher 
somewhars — but  rny  ap'on  were  positive  wet.  And  it's  as- 
tonishin'  that  of  two  brothers  Jodie  Kittrell,  and  him  the 
youngest,  would  be  so  much  more  knowin'  what  were  his 
juty  in  the  warous  Churches  it  were  his  juty  to  stand  up 
to  ef  not  to  jind  imegiant  out  an'  out;  and  I  wouldn't  de 
sires  to  hear  more  dilicater  langwidges  than  that  same  man 
have  insiniwated  about  the  settlin'  o'  Jodie  on  this  side  o' 
his  plantation." 

Caroline,  tall,  blooming,  merry-eyed,  smiled,  well-pleased 
at  the  report,  and  made  no  further  reply  than  that,  in  her 
opinion,  a  finer  young  man  in  the  whole  State  of  Georgia 
was  not  to  be  found  than  Jodie  Kittrell. 

From  Mrs.  Templin's  Mr.  Kittrell  rode  by  the  nearest  way 


158        THE    MEDIATIONS    OF    MK.   ARCHIE    KITTBELL. 

straight  on  to  Mrs.  Peevy 's,  and  one  who  had  witnessed  the 
gayety  of  his  recent  salutation  might  have  been  surprised 
at  the  solemnity  with  which  he  greeted  his  neighbor  to  the 
left.  Of  about  the  same  age  as  Mrs.  Templin,  though  short 
er  and  thinner,  she  was  more  reticent  and  serious,  and 
showed  more  of  the  wear  of  time.  Mr.  Kittrell's  voice  had 
a  most  respectful  and  kind  tremor  when  he  said  how  thank 
ful  he  was  to  see  her  looking  so  remockable  well.  In  an 
swer  to  her  inquiry  about  himself  and  his  family,  he  an 
swered,  after  a  brief,  thoughtful  pause, 

"  All  of  us  is  in  middlin'  fa'r  health,  Missuis  Peevy,  thank 
the  good  Lord,  exceptions  of  Buck." 

"Buck?"  quickly  asked  Mrs.  Peevy.  "Why,  I  see  him 
and  Jody  both  a-Sunday,  and  I  never  see  him  a-lookin'  bet 
ter  or  healthier.  What  ail  Buck  ?" 

"  Not  in  his  body,  Missuis  Peevy,"  answered  the  old  man, 
with  moderate  gratitude ;  "  not  in  his  body,  I  don't  mean. 
In  Buck's  body,  and  I  mout  say  in  all  his  warous  limbs, 
Buck  KittrTs  sound  as  a  roach,  strong  as  a  mule,  active  as 
a  cat,  an'  industrous  as  they  genuilly  makes  'em.  It's  the 
boy's  mind  that's  a-makin'  o'  me  oneasy." 

"  Buck's  mind,  Mr.  Kittr'l  ?"  she  asked,  in  candid  anxiety, 
for  she  liked  both  the  boys  well.  "  Why,  what  upon  the 
yearth— " 

"  Yes,  madam,  his  mind.  You  see,  Buck  have  got  now 
to  whar  he's  a-goin'  on,  and  that  monstuous  pow'ful  rapid, 
to  his  one-an'-twenty,  and  he  know  it;  an'  when  an'  at  which 
time  he  can  wote,  an'  be  a  man  besides,  an'  which,  though 
Buck  hain't  told  me  so  in  them  many  words,  yit  I  consate 
that  Buck  want  to  settle  hisself ;  and  he,  a-bein'  o'  my  old 
est  son,  and  a  studdy,  and  of  afectuonate  natur',  a  parrent, 
speshual  when  he  know  hisself  on  the  vargin  o'  the  grave, 
mout  natchel  be  anxuous  about  what  perwision  to  make 


THE    MEDIATIONS    OF    MR.   ARCHIE    KITTRELL.       159 

for  him  who  ain't  one  o'  them  sort  that'll  up  an'  out  'ith 
what  he  want,  bnt'll  take  what  his  parrent  father  'lows  him 
and  never  cherrip.  For  my  desires  is  to  settle  them  boys,  or 
leastways  Buck,  before  my  head  git  cold,  and  not  to  be 
a-leadin'  'em  to  the  temptations  o'  wantin'  gone  the  only 
father  they've  got,  and  that  before  his  time  come  to  go." 

Mr.  Kittrell  paused,  took  out  his  white  square -spotted 
red  silk  handkerchief,  and  mildly  blew  his  nose.  Mrs. 
Peevy,  making  no  reply,  he  continued  : 

"  This  here  side  -o'  my  plantation  that  lays  on  Turkey 
Creek  and  perpuendickler  betwix'  me  and  them  that  I've 
said  it  freckuent,  open  an'  above  bode,  nobody  oughtn't  to 
never  desires  to  have  a  better  neighbor,  and  which,  ef  I 
weren't  a-settin'  in  thar  very  pe-azer  at  this  minute,  I  should 
name  thar  names,  and  which  some  people  say  this  the  best 
side  o'  my  plantation,  and  mout  natchel  expect  for  me  to 
lay  it  off  to  my  oldest  son,  and  which  they  ain't  no  doubts 
on  my  mind  that  Buck  have  a  sly  leanin'  to-wards  this  side, 
and  possuable  may  be  mout  be  to  cross  the  creek  and  go 
as  fur  as  Big  Spring,  which —  But  bless  my  soul !  whar's 
Sarann  ?  I  don't  know  how  I  could  have  been  here  this 
long  'ithout  a-askin'  for  that  lovely  child,  which  my  wife 
declare  she's  the  very  picter  of  her  mother  in  all  an'  every 
p'ints  of  view." 

"Sarann  and  Calline  rid  over  to  Mr.  Ivy's  this  evenin'," 
answered  Mrs.  Peevy. 

"Umph —  humph!  Love  to  see  young  people  a-goin' 
a-wisitin'  when  it's  done  in  reason.  As  for  Buck,  'pears 
like  he  never  here  lately  seems  to  keer  about  a-wisitin'  no 
great  deals,  exceptions  he's  evident  a  Turkey  Creeker  thoout 
its  muanderiu's,  and  the  child's  mind  seem  to  be  of  a-oc- 
cuepied  here  lately.  I  hope  it'll  all  come  right,  and  I'm 
a-studdin'  about  him  a-constant,  and  a-constant  a-askin'  my- 


160       THE    MEDIATIONS    OF    MR.    AKCHIE    KITTRELL. 

self  in  pow'ful  langwidges,  what  do  Buck  Kittr'll  mean  by 
his  constant  a-rauanderin'  up  and  down  Turkey  Creek  on 
both  sides  of  her  and  to-wards  Big  Spring  ?  And  ef  I  know 
myself,  and  it  'pears  like  a  man  o'  my  age  ought  to  know 
hisself,  I  wants  and  desires  to  do  a  parrent's  part,  and  spesh- 
nal  along  'ith  them  that's  the  oldest,  a-goin'  on  rapid  to 
thar  one-and-twenty,  and  a-lookin'  forrards  'ith  the  serous 
and  solemn  p'ints  of  view  that  boy  been  here  lately  a-evi- 
dent  a-takin'  o'  matters  an'  things  in  gener'l  and  speshual  o' 
hisself.  And  you  say  the  gals  rid  to  Joel  Ivy's?" 

"Yes,  sir.  Calline  said  she  heerd  Prissy  Mattix's  feel- 
ins—" 

"She  thar?"  asked  Mr.  Kittrell,  quickly. 

"  Yes,  sir ;  a-doin'  o'  some  weavin'  for  Missis  Ivy ;  and 
Calline  was  afeard,  she  said,  that  Prissy's  feelins  was  hurted 
by  her  mother  a-givin'  the  weavin'  of  her  jeans  and  stripes 
to  Sophy  Hill ;  and  so  she  and  Sarann  rid  over  jes*  natchel, 
and  to  ast  to  see  Prissy  well  as  Missis  Norris." 

"Umph — humph!"  Mr.  Kittrell  prolonged  the  exclama 
tion,  and  was  ruminating  what  remark  he  should  make 
about  Miss  Mattox,  whom  he  both  disliked  and  feared, 
when  the  two  girls  came  cantering  up  to  the  gate.  Some 
how  Mr.  Kittrell  felt  a  little  embarrassed  at  meeting  them 
together ;  yet  he  shook  hands  heartily  with  both,  as  alight 
ing  from  their  horses  they  came  running  in.  Sarann,  some 
what  petite,  but  as  rounded,  as  well-developed,  and  as  pretty 
as  Caroline,  was  not  quite  so  demonstrative,  though  in  her 
own  home,  as  the  latter.  Yet  she  said  with  simple  candor 
that  she  was  glad  to  see  Mr.  Kittrell. 

"  Now,  Godamighty  bless  both  of  you,  your  souls  and 
your  bodies,"  he  said,  gallantly.  Somehow  he  could  not  see 
his  way  clear  as  to  what  to  say  to  each  in  the  presence  of 
the  other ;  and  so,  after  a  few  general  observations,  he  took 


THE    MEDIATIONS    OP    MR.   ARCIIIE    K1TTRELL.        163 

his  leave.  On  the  way  home  he  soliloquized  much.  One 
of  the  subjects  of  this  interior  conversation  may  be  guessed 
from  an  audible  remark  that  he  made  to  his  horse,  while 
the  latter  was  drinking  at  the  ford  of  Turkey  Creek. 

"  Selom,"  said  he,  pointing  and  slowly  sh'aking  his  finger 
at  the  beast's  head,  "  ef  any  flaw  is  to  come  to  this  bisui- 
ness,  you  hear  me,  it'll  be  flung  in  by  old  Priss  Mattix." 

He  looked  quickly  all  around  to  see  if  possibly  this  unin 
tentional  exclamation  had  been  overheard;  then,  tightening 
the  reins,  he  urged  Selim  on.  Reaching  home,  he  informed 
his  wife  of  the  events  of  his  visits,  and  added, 

"  My  opinions  is,  Jincy,  and  my  believes  is,  that  at  the 
Templings'  the  iron  are  hot,  and  at  the  Peevys',  ef  not  hot, 
it's  of  a-begirmin'  to  git  warm.  Ef  only  ole  Priss  Mattix 
will  keep  her  everulastin'  mouth  shet,  it'll  go  through  sleek 
as  a  bean,  or  a  ingun,  which  of  the  two  you  mind  to  choos- 
en.  But,  to  save  my  life,  I  can't  but  be  afeard  o'  that  ole 
creeter." 

He  said  as  much  to  Buck  and  Jodie.  The  younger 
looked  at  his  brother  with  a  face  partly  gay  and  partly  seri 
ous.  Buck  received  the  news  with  hearty  satisfaction,  say 
ing  boldly  that  in  his  opinion  a  finer  girl  than  Sarann  Peevy 
the  State  of  Georgia  never  produced,  but  that  the  sooner 
the  name  Peevy  was  changed  to  Kittrell,  a  thing  he  was 
glad  to  hope  was  possible  in  time,  the  better  it  would  be 
for —  Here  Buck  and  Jodie  both  blushed  somewhat ;  for, 
great,  stalwart,  fine,  glorious  fellows  as  they  were,  they  were 
modest  and  gentle,  and  this  was  the  main  reason  why  their 
father  felt  it  to  be  his  duty  to  take  the  lead  and  urge  them 
to  follow  in  this  most  delicate  pursuit. 

"  You  two  keep  cle'r  o'  ole  Priss  ef  you  can,"  said  Mr. 
Kittrell,  in  conclusion  ;  "or  ef  you  meet  up  along  'ith  her, 
be  monst'ous  perlite.  'Tvva'n't  for  hurtin'  o'  Sophy  Hill's 


164       THE    MEDIATIONS    OF    MR.    ARCHIE    KITTRELL. 

feelin's,  I'd  git  her  to  weave  my  jeans.  And  you  can't  be 
too  peticualar  in  keepin'  both  your  bisuiness  a  secret,  and 
speshual  from  her." 

IV. 

Miss  Priscilla  Mattox,  who  had  come  up  from  one  of 
the  wire-grass  counties  below — I  believe  it  was  never  pre 
cisely  known  which — had  been  making  temporary  sojourns 
the  while  with  various  families  in  the  county,  for  whom  she 
had  been  doing  jobs  at  weaving.  Tall,  thin,  wiry,  and  of 
extremely  uncertain  age,  she  had  gotten  the  reputation 
among  many  of  being  as  swift  with  her  tongue  as  with  the 
shuttle.  She  might  have  been  the  equal,  even  the  superior, 
of  Miss  Sophy  Hill  in  counterpanes ;  but  in  jeans  and 
stripes  Mrs.  Templin,  at  least,  who  had  tried  both,  preferred 
the  latter,  and  at  this  very  time  Miss  Hill  was  engaged  at 
her  house  on  a  job  in  this  special  department.  The  prefer 
ence  hurt  Miss  Mattox's  feelings,  as  she  frankly  confessed, 
and  the  more  because  she  felt  that  she  knew  Mrs.  Templin 
had  shown  her  partiality  for  Miss  Hill  mainly  because  of 
herself  being  poor  and — as  she  expressed  it — a  furriner. 

Miss  Mattox  had  not  yet  connected  herself  with  either 
William's  Creek  or  Big  Spring;  but  if  Mrs.  Templin  and 
Mrs.  Peevy  had  been  put  upon  their  oaths,  each  would  have 
been  compelled  to  say  that  she  had  thought  she  had  had 
reason  to  expect  that  Miss  Mattox,  at  no  very  distant  day, 
would  feel  it  her  duty  not  longer  to  delay  proceeding  to 
the  place  where  she  was  obliged  to  know  she  belonged.  In 
deed,  most  lately,  ever  since  the  disappointment  in  the  mat 
ter  of  the  jeans  and  stripes,  Mrs.  Peevy  particularly  must 
have  been  rather  pronounced  in  such  opinion,  even  upon  the 
witness-stand. 

Now,  it  so  happened  that  Mr.  Kittrell,  in  pursuance  of  the 


THE    MEDIATIONS    OF    MB.    ARCHIE    KITTRELL.        165 

double  project  so  near  his  heart,  had  been  engaged  for  some 
time,  as  preliminary  to  and  believed  by  himself  likely  to  as 
sist  and  expedite  its  consummation,  in  making  two  small 
clearings  on  the  high  ground  in  the  woods  on  either  side  of 
his  mansion,  and  had  blazed  the  trees  on  what  seemed  to 
be  intended  as  an  avenue  to  lead  from  each  of  the  clear 
ings,  one  to  the  ford  of  William's  Creek,  the  other  to  that 
of  Turkey.  Such  action  was  obliged  to  be  talked  about, 
and  Mr.  Kittrell  well  knew  it.  So  he  counselled  his  wife, 
whom  he  knew  to  be  entirely  artless,  rather  too  artless  in 
deed,  to  keep  herself  at  home  for  a  while,  and  refer  all  in 
quirers  to  himself.  He  was  conscious  of  being  too  shrewd 
a  man  to  be  caught  divulging  important  intentions  relating 
to  his  own  business.  Therefore  he  smiled  inwardly  when 
away,  and  laughed  broadly  when  in  the  bosom  of  his  fami 
ly,  at  the  one  answer  he  had  given  to  all  inquiries — that  he 
was  clearing  places  to  set  some  traps.  For,  indeed,  every 
body  had  to  complain  of  the  ravages  made  by  crows  and 
blackbirds  on  the  newly  planted  low-ground  corn. 

It  was  one  of  those  things  that  could  never  be  satisfacto 
rily  accounted  for  how  the  suspicion  came  to  the  mind  of  Miss 
Priscilla  Mattox,  a  few  weeks  after  Mr.  Kittrell's  visits  to 
his  neighbors,  that  Buck  Kittrell  had  dropped  Sarann  Peevy, 
to  whom  lately  he  had  been  paying  marked  attention,  and 
was  now  doing  his  utmost  to  supplant  his  brother  Jodie  in 
the  regard  of  Caroline  Templin.  Miss  Sophy  Hill,  indeed, 
had  admitted  that  she  had  suspected  of  late  that  Caroline 
had  seemed  to  her  rather  more  fond  of  Buck's  than  Jodie's 
closest  society.  But  the  relations  between  the  two  distin 
guished  weavers  were  well  known  to  be  far  from  cordial. 
Besides,  Miss  Hill  declared  upon  her  honor  that  she  had  not 
so  much  as  spoken  to  Miss  Mattox  since  the  eventful  change 
in  the  relation  of  the  latter  to  the  Templins;  and,  moreover, 


166       THE    MEDIATIONS    OF    ME.   ARCHIE    KITTRELL. 

that  she  had  communicated  her  own  suspicions  only  to  three 
or  four,  or,  at  least,  to  not  more  than  from  five  to  six  of  her 
lady  acquaintances,  and  even  then  in  the  strictest  confi 
dence.  However,  the  suspicion  had  gotten  into  the  mind 
of  Miss  Mattox,  and  she  resolved  to  hunt  for  its  foundation. 
The  result  of  her  search  may  be  surmised  from  the  report 
Mr.  Kittrell  made  to  Buck  one  evening  of  an  accidental 
visit  he  had  made  to  one  of  his  neighbors. 

"  I  stopped  at  Jeemes  Lazenberry's  on  my  way  from 
town,  and  I'm  sorry  I  done  it,  and  I  wouldn't  of  done  it  ef 
I'd  of  knew  that  ole  Priss  Mattix  were  thai1,  and  which  I 
didn't  know  it  untwill  I  were  plump  in  the  pe-azer.  The 
ole  creeter,  soon  as  I  come  'nigh  an'  in  an'  about,  at  me  she 
did  about  them  clerruins;  and  when  I  ans'ered  as  I  ans'ered 
everybody  else  to  thar  satersfactuon,  blame  ef  she  didn't 
show  plain  as  that  crooked  ole  nose  on  her  face,  that  she 
didn't  believe  nary  singuil  one,  ner  nary  blessuid  word ;  and 
when  she  'lowed  she  had  heerd  that  you  was  a-courtin'  o' 
Calline  Templing,  I  couldn't,  not  to  save  my  life,  I  couldn't 
keep  from  bein'  of  a  little  confuseded  in  my  mind,  though 
I  don't  think  she  see  it ;  for  I  tuck  out  my  hankercher  and 
blowed  my  nose  tremenjuous ;  and  I  told  her  that,  pine- 
blank,  it  weren't  so.  I  were  thankful  she  were  on  the  back 
track ;  but  I  tell  you,  now,  you  boys  better  hurry  up,  for  that 
ole  nose  of  hern,  to  my  opinion,  have  a  scent  same  as  a 
hound;  and  when  she  see  Buck's  track  to-wards  Missuis 
Templing's  of  gittin'  of  cold,  you'll  hear  her  a-yelpin'  back 
across  Turkey  Creek,  and  have  him  an'  Sarann  treed  same 
as  a  possum  in  a  simmon." 

Buck  laughed  heartily  at  his  father's  report,  and  assured 
him  that  he  had  no  apprehension  of  harm  of  any  sort  from 
Miss  Mattox. 

On  the  next  day  Miss  Mattox,  having  gotten  from  Mrs. 


THE    MEDIATIONS    OF    MR.   ARCHIE    KITTRELL.       ]67 

Lazenberry's  a  brief  release,  hastened  over  to  Mrs.  Peevy's, 
and  reported  to  her  the  conversation  she  had  held  with  Mr. 
Kittrell  the  day  before,  and  his  confusion  when  she  told  him 
that  everybody  knew  that  Buck  Kittrell  was  courting  Caro 
line  Teraplin,  and  almost  knew  he  was  engaged  to  her.  Mrs. 
Peevy  was  acutely  pained  at  this  news.  She  hoped,  vainly 
indeed,  that  Miss  Mattox  did  not  observe  her  emotion. 

"  Why,  lawsy  me,  didn't  you  know  that,  Missis  Peevy  ?" 

"  I  did  not,"  answered  Mrs.  Peevy,  faintly. 

"  It's  so,  shore  as  you're  settin'  in  that  cheer.  And  I  can 
tell  ye  how  it  come  about  to  my  'pinions;  and  my  'pinions, 
Missis  Peevy,  is  things  that  gen'ally  knows  what  they're 
about.  Polly  Templin's  at  the  bottom  o'  all  the  business. 
Now,  I  ain't  a  person  that  meddles  with  other  people's  busi 
ness,  a- not'ithunderstandin'  she  have  tuck  from  me  the 
weavin'  o'  her  stripes  and  jeans ;  but  she's  at  the  bottom  of 
it,  and  when  she  heerd,  as  everybody  else  did,  that  Buck  Kit- 
tr'll  were  a-freckwent  crossin'  o'  Turkey  Creek,  a-goin'  to 
Big  Spring,  and  to  another  place,  and  which  it  is  too  dili- 
cate  for  me  to  forb'ar  where  that  other  place  are,  and  she 
went  for  him,  and  she  sot  that  Calline  arfter  him — " 

"  Stop  right  thar,  Prissy,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Peevy.  "  I 
can't  think  Calline  'd  o'  done  anything  that  ain't  mod 
est." 

"  Well,"  said  Miss  Mattox,  shrugging  her  shoulders,  "  drap 
her  out  o'  the  case ;  but  her  mammy  have  been  a-pessecut- 
in'  o'  that  boy,  and  tryin'  to  clinch  the  nail  on  him,  and  as 
shore's  you're  born'd  she's  got  him ;  and  they'll  all  do  of 
their  level  best  to  make  a  bachelder  out  o'  Jodie,  and  which 
he's  jes'  that  kind  o'  good-natur'd  feller  as'll  let  'em  do  it, 
an'  everybody  been  a-notisin'  how  low-sperrited  Jodie  is,  an' 
him  and  Buck  scacely  speaks." 

"  Well,"  said    Mrs.  Peevy,  in    a    low,  constrained  voice, 


168       THE    MEDIATIONS    OF    ME.    AKCHIE    KITTKELL. 

"I'm  shore  I  don't  know  that  it's  any  business  o'  mine." 
Yet  a  tear  was  in  her  eye. 

"  May  be  not,"  replied  Miss  Mattox ;  "  but  I  jest  natchel 
hates  to  see  people  a-meddlin'  'ith  other  people's  business, 
and  I  used  to  try  my  level  best  to  keep  Polly  Templin  from 
runnin'  on  in  the  scand'lous  way  about  some  people  that 
she  know  are  her  betters,  a-believin'  in  sancterfercation,  and 
fallin'  from  grace,  and  how  she  said  that  she  knowed  of 
things  about  them  people  that — well,  she  jest  out  and  said 
that  it  were  perfec  ridicklous  when  Malviny  Peevy  sot  her 
self  up  for  one  o'  them  saints  that's  been  dead  every  sence 
the  'Pistles  o'  the  Tostle  Paul." 

"Did  she  say  them  words,  Prissy  Mattix?"  asked  Mrs. 
Peevy,  panting. 

"To  the  best  o'  my  ricollections,  Missis  Peevy,  them  was 
not  only  her  words,  but  her  wery  langwidges.  But,  oh,  my 
dear  Missis  Peevy  !  if  I  was  in  your  place,  I'd  let  Polly 
Templin  go,  and  I  should  desires,  by  no  manner  o'  means, 
for  my  name  to  be  named.  Because,  as  everybody  know, 
I'm  a  orphin  person,  and  has  to  work  for  my  livin',  and 
tharfo'  and  wharfo'  I  ain't  o'  them  that  'd  wish  to  make 
innimies." 

Mrs.  Peevy  rose  and  walked  up  and  down  the  room  for 
a  minute  or  two,  then  stopped  and  quietly  asked  Miss 
Mattox  if  she  would  stay  to  dinner.  But,  bless  her  heart, 
Miss  Mattox  had  left  the  shickle  in  the  loom  and  was 
promised  to  return.  When  she  was  gone,  Mrs.  Peevy 
ruminated  the  livelong  day.  But  a  short  time  before  the 
arrival  of  Miss  Mattox,  Sarann  had  gone  to  Mrs.  Templin's 
to  spend  the  day.  The  mother  resisted  the  first  impulse 
to  send  for  her.  Sarann  returned  in  the  evening,  and  the 
innocent  heartiness  with  which  she  spoke  both  of  Caroline 
and  Mrs.  Templin  touched  her  mother's  heart  so  sensibly 


THE    MEDIATIONS    OF    MR.    ARCHIE    KITTRELL.        169 

that  she  had  never  before  realized  so  fully  how  dearly  loved 
was  her  only  child.  That  night,  after  Sarann  had  gone  to 
bed,  she  sat  up  far  beyond  the  usual  time.  When  she  had 
risen  at  last  to  retire,  she  went  softly  into  her  daughter's 


THEM  WAS  NOT  ONLY  HER  WORDS,  BUT  HER  WERY  LANGWIDGES.'  " 


chamber,  a  small  shed-room  next  her  own,  and  shading  the 
candle,  looked  upon  the  face  of  the  sleeper,  while  tears  ran 
down  her  cheeks.  After  gazing  upon  her  several  mo 
ments,  she  leaned  over  and  softly  kissed  her  forehead. 
Sarann  momentarily  smiled,  and  then  gently  sighed.  The 
mother  went  silently  back,  then,  throwing  herself  upon  her 
knees  by  her  own  bed,  wept  sorely. 

The  next  morning,  after  breakfast,  she  said  to  Sarann, 


170       THE    MEDIATIONS    OF    ME.    ARCHIE    KITTRELL. 

"I'm  goin'  to  Hello  on  a  little  bit  o'  business,  precious; 
I  sha'n't  be  gone  long.  Give  out  what  you  ruther  have  for 
dinner.  I  hain't  much  appetite  to-day." 

V. 

Take  it  all  in  all,  the  experience  of  Mr.  Kittrell  during 
the  greater  part  of  this  day  was  the  most  excited  and  pain 
ful  in  his  recollection.  "  Because,"  as  he  would  sometimes 
remark  when  recurring  to  it,  "  I'm  a  man  that  never  likes 
to  git  mad,  and  it's  because  when  I  does,  ef  it's  ragin',  viguous 
mad,  they  is  danger  o'  my  hurtin'  somebody  or  something 
apowiduin'  they  don't  git  out  o'  my  way." 

It  was  about  ten  o'clock.  Buck  was  out  overseeing  the 
plough  and  Jodie  the  hoe  hands.  Mr.  Kittrell,  having  re 
turned  from  a  meditative  ride  over  both  fields,  was  sitting 
in  his  piazza,  indulging  the  pleasing,  anxious  pains  of  in 
cubation  over  his  plans,  with  an  occasional  inward  affection 
ate  chiding  of  his  boys  for  not  being  more  pushing  each  in 
his  own  most  fond  endeavor,  when  he  saw  a  negro  riding  a 
mule  which  he  urged  with  kicks  and  a  hickory  on  the  road 
that  led  from  Mrs.  Templin's.  It  proved  to  be  her  man  Si. 

"Marse  Archie,"  said  Si,  "  mist'ess  say  come  dar  quick's 
your  boss  can  fetch  you." 

"  My  good-ness  grasuous,  Si,  what  can  be  the  matter  ?" 

"  Don't  know,  marster.  Marse  Jim  Hutchin'  fotch  a  paper 
which  mist'ess  say  have  ruin'  her.  Never  see  mist'ess  so 
'flicted,  not  even  when  marster  died  and  leff  her." 

"  Ride  on  back  and  tell  her  I'm  a-comin',  and  that  ame- 
juant." 

"  What  can  the  matter  be,  honey  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Kittrell, 
in  great  anxiety. 

"  Don't  ast  me,  Jincy,"  answered  her  husband,  almost 
angrily,  painfully  humiliated  by  not  being  able  to  answer 


THE    MEDIATIONS    OF    MR.    ARCHIE    KITTRELL.        171 

the  question  of  one  so  far  his  inferior.  "  I  knoweth  not, 
ner  neither  doth  I  know." 

While  his  horse  was  being  brought  out,  he  walked  up 
and  down  the  piazza,  muttering  to  himself.  His  wife,  know 
ing  what  a  'desperate  man  he  was  capable  of  becoming,  was 
appalled  at  overhearing  him  say, 

"  No,  no  ;  the  techhole's  stopped  up  and  the  cock's  broke, 
and  it  hain't  even  a  ramrod.  'Twouldn't  be  no  manner  o' 
use."  He  looked  as  if  he  could  have  wept  from  disappoint 
ment. 

"My  dear  honey,  what  are  you  a-talkin'  about?"  ex 
claimed  Mrs.  Kittrell,  pale  with  horror. 

"My  pischuel,  'oman,  my  PISCHUEL!" 

"  My  Lord  !"  she  cried,  throwing  up  both  arms  and  bow 
ing  her  head. 

Now,  Mr.  Kittrell  had  not  only  great  affection  but  much 
considerateness  for  his  wife. 

"  Oh,  Jincy,  if  you  don't  want  me,  I  sha'n't  take  her. 
Tell  Buck;  no,  tell  Jodie;  no,  tell  nary  one  of 'em  to  do 
nary  blessed  thing  ontel\  I  find  out  what's  turned  up  all 
cruation,  and  can  then  tell  what  can  be  done  and  what  can 
be  did." 

"Be  calm,  my  precious  husband,  be  c-ca-alrn-alm  !" 

"I'll  try  to  be  calm,  Jincy,"  he  answered,  in  sepulchral 
tone. 

"  When  I  got  thar,"  said  Mr.  Kittrell,  later  in  the  day, 
"  thar  were  Missuis  Templing,  red  as  a  beet,  hot  as  a  piece 
o'  i'on  jes'  out'n  the  hath,  and  a-holdin'  in  her  trembluin' 
hands  a  piece  o'  paper.  Calline,  she  were  rid  over  to  Har- 
rell's  stow,  and  conshuequently  she  weren't  thar.  Tlie 
minute  I  lay  my  eyes  on  the  back  o7  the  writin',  I  see  it 
were  Joe  Cofield,  and  I  says  to  myself,  '  High,  name  o'  good- 


172        THE    MEDIATIONS    OF    MR.    ARCHIE    KITTRELL. 

ness,  high !'  for  I  knowed  that  'oman  were  afeard  o'  debt 
as  she  were  o'  the  grave ;  and  I  did  not  supposinged  she 
owed  nary  dollar  ner  nary  cent  to  nobody,  let  alone  of 
Missuis  Peevy.  But,  lo  and  behold,  Missuis  Peevy  have 
sued  her  for  thirty  dollars  for  scandle ;  and  not  only  so, 
but  Jim  Ilutchins,  the  constuable,  he  had  to  tell  her  that 
the  plantuff  'd  of  fotch  for  a  hundred,  exceptions  that  Joe 
Cofield  told  her  she  couldn't  sue  in  his  cote  for  but  thirty 
dollars,  'ithout  she'd  diwide  up  the  words  and  fetch  on 
three  of  'em  for  thirty  and  one  for  ten,  but  that  Missuis 
Peevy  wouldn't  diwide  the  words,  because  she  were  onnly 
arfter  keepin'  Missuis  Templing's  mouth  shet.  Befo'  I  have 
sot  down  in  a  blessed  cheer,  I  says  to  her,  4  Missuis  Tem 
pling,'  says  I,  '  to  my  opinions,  it's  Priss  Mattix.  But,  how- 
be-ever,  Joe  Cofield  ought  to  be  'shamed  o'  hisself  for  fetch- 
in'  of  a  case  that  he  know,  well  as  I  know,  belong  not  to 
his  little  ole  cote.  But  that's  jest  Joe  Cofield.  When 
he's  shore  o'  his  cost,  he'll  put  on  his  everulastin'  docket 
whomsoever  '11  ask  him.  Why,  didn't  he  let  Bias  Bug- 
gamy  sue  a  stray  stump  -  tail  yearlin'  for  breakin'  in  his 
field;  and  didn't  Bias  call  for  bail,  and  stan'  bail  for  the 
said  yearlin'  and  take  possession  of  him  ?  And  didn't  he 
git  a  jedgrnent,  and  a  exercution  ;  and  didn't  Jim  Hutchins 
level  on  and  put  up  and  sell  the  said  yearlin'  in  Bias  Bug- 
gamy's  cuppin'  ?  And  didn't  Bias  Buggamy  buy  him  in 
for  the  cost,  and  kill  him,  and  skin  him,  and  eat  him  ?  The 
good  a'mighty  !  W7hy,  I  tell  you,  madam,'  says  I,  '  any 
body  that  he  know  good  for  cost,  he'd  let  'em  fetch  suit  in 
his  cote  agin  the  moon  for  spilin'  a  string  o'  fish  er  a  pot 
o'  soap.  And  as  for  Priss  Mattix  —  but  she's  a  female 
person  and — '  " 

"Ef  her  everdence  is  Prissy  Mattix,"  said  Mrs.  Templin, 
suddenly,  "she  have  told  me  worse  things  of  Malviny  Peevy's 


THE    MEDIATIONS    OF    MR.   AKCHIE    KITTRELL.        173 

a-sayin7  agin  me  than  she  have  sued  me  for  sayin'  agin 
her." 

"Thar  it  is  now,  thar  it  is,"  said  Mr.  Kittrell,  his  eyes 
sparkling  with  gratification. 

"Didn't  she  tell  me  that  Malviny  Peevy  called  me  the 
'Postle  Paul,  and  made  game  o'  me,  and  say  nobody  but 
me  could  of  p'inted  his  'Pistle  to  the  Romans?" 

"  Ah,  ha !  umph,  humph  !  ah,  ha  !  and  it  were  to  keep  you 
from  takin'  from  her  the  weavin'  o'  your  stripes  and  jeans, 
and  she  sot  Missuis  Peevy  agin  you  because  you  did.  Now, 
don't  you  know,  Missuis  Templing,  that  Priss  Mattix  know, 
ef  she  know  anything,  that  Missuis  Peevy  know  you  ain't  no 
'Postle  Paul,  or  couldn't  be,  a-bein'  of  a  female,  and  that 
the  whole  of  it  is  her  inwentions?" 

Other  conferences  the  friends  had  which,  being  confiden 
tial,  I  leave  to  be  inferred  rather  than  mentioned  in  detail. 

In  less  than  an  hour  after  Mr.  Kittrell's  departure,  Mrs. 
Templin  was  at  Hello  District  Court.  Calling  for  the  dock 
et,  she  read, 


MISSIS  MALVINY  PKEVY 

Debt  for  scandle. 


MISSIS  POLLY  TEMPLIN.  ) 


She  left  for  home  immediately  after  the  justice  had  made 
underneath  the  following  entry, 

MISSIS  POLLY  TEMPLIN    }  _ 

/  Debt  for  mene  an   ouda- 
vs.  v 

,,          ,,  -r.  i       cious  insmiwations. 

MISSIS  MALVINY  PEEVY.  ; 


"Jincy,"  said  Mr.  Kittrell,  after  giving  his  wife  a  hurried 
account  of  the  suit  of  Mrs.  Peevy,  without  mention  of  the 
cross-action,  "  I  must  go  to  town  on  a  little  bisuiness,  and 
sha'n't  be  back  tell  late  this  evenin'." 
12 


174       THE    MEDIATIONS    OF    MR.   AKCHIE    KITTKELL. 

And  he  rode  off  straightway.  It  was  the  first  time  that 
Mr.  Kittrell  had  ever  run  away  from  the  prospect  of  being 
called  upon  to  assist  a  neighbor.  This  is  what  he  did ;  for 
he  had  had  little  doubt  but  that  Mrs.  Peevy  would  send  for 


"MISSIS   POLLY   TEMPLIN    VS.    MISSIS    MALVINY    PEEVY.        DEBT    FOR    MENE 
AN'  OUDACIOUS   INSINUATIONS." 

him  when  the  summons  should  be  carried  to  her,  and  he 
could  not  see  how,  at  least  yet,  he  was  to  deport  himself 
towards  her  after  the  counsel  he  had  given,  or  at  least  hinted, 
to  her  adversary.  Intent  upon  bringing  about  peace,  he 
knew,  at  the  same  time,  that  his  influence  with  Mrs.  Peevy, 
because  of  her  more  serious,  determined  character,  was  less 
than  with  Mrs.  Templin  ;  so  he  deemed  it  the  part  of  pru 
dence  to  get  out  of  the  way  for  a  brief  time. 

"  I  were  never  a  person  that  were  nsened  to  dodgin',  but 


THE    MEDIATIONS    OF    MR.    AKCHIE    KITTRELJL.       175 

I  had  it  to  do,  and  I  done  it.  I  wanted  to  see  how  the 
hoarhound  were  a-workin'  all  around,  and  then  I  wanted  to 
cool  off  a  little  bit  afore  I  see  Joe  Cofield.  Po'  ole  Priss 
wer'  a  female ;  I  knowed  that,  and  she  wer'  beyant  me ;  but 
when  I  thought  about  Joe  Cofield,  I  tell  you  I  were  oneasy 
fer  him.  But  I  promised  Jincy  to  be  cool  and  calm  as  pos- 
suble,  and  so  I  concluded  to  let  things  lay  for  that  day." 

It  was  supper-time  when  he  returned.  The  boys  had  just 
returned  from  some  visits  they  had  made  in  the  afternoon. 
Both  seemed  concerned,  notwithstanding  an  occasional  smile 
on  Buck's  face  which  would  immediately  disappear.  The 
mother  had  been  full  of  anxiety  all  day,  in  spite  of  the  grat 
itude  she  felt  that  her  husband  had  not  taken  his  pistol. 
Not  a  word  was  said  for  some  time  after  they  had  sat  at 
the  table.  Suddenly,  with  impatience,  Mr.  Kittrell  cried 
out, 

"  Ef  anybody  know  anything,  can't  they  tell  it  ?  Is  it  got 
so  that  people's  own  fatnblies  can't  talk  to  'cm  ?  Is  every 
body  done  gone  and  got  mad  and  distracted?  Have  Missuis 
Peevy  sent  words  to  me  ?" 

"  No,  sir.  You  know,  pa,"  said  Buck,  with  great  respect, 
"that  Mrs.  Peevy  have  sued  Mrs.  Templin." 

"  I  should  some  rather  supposing  I  did,  havin'  saw  the 
summons  that  Joe  Cofield  sent  her." 

"  Well,  now  Mrs.  Templin  have  sued  Mrs.  Peevy." 

"Who  said  so?"  asked  Mr.  Kittrell,  firmly,  yet  casting 
down  his  eyes  the  while. 

"  Mrs.  Templin  told  me  this  evenin',  and  Mrs.  Peevy  told 
Jodie." 

"  Missuis  Templing  told  who  ?" 

"  Me." 

"  Missuis  Peevy  told  who  ?" 

"  Jodie." 


176        THE    MEDIATIONS    OF    MR.    ARCHIE    KITTRELL. 

Mr.  Kittrell  looked  dazedly  at  one  and  another  of  his 
family. 

"  Can  anybody  tell  me  how  come  them  boys  at  them 
houses  in  that  kind  o'  style,  and  in  skenes  like  the 
present  ?" 

"  We  both  went  on  business,  pa." 

"  Bisuiness !"  and  Mr.  Kittrell  opened  his  eyes  and  his 
mouth. 

"Yes,  sir.  Pa,  I  and  Jodie  have  done  wrong  ;  that  is,  I 
have — that  is,  me  and  Calline — and  we  overpersuaded  Jodie 
and  Sarann,  which  they  didn't  want  to  do  it,  but  we  over- 
persuaded  'em." 

"  Buck  Kittr'll,"  said  his  father,  "  for  ef  my  'membuance 
an'  my  riculection  ain't  clean  gone,  that  were  your  name,  or 
at  leastways  it  usened  to  be,  what  you  mean  by  you  and 
Calline,  and  by  Jodie  and  Sarann  ?" 

"I  mean,  pa,  that  I  went  to  ask  Mrs.  Templin  for  Calline, 
and  Jodie  went  to  ask  Mrs.  Peevy  for  Sarann." 

Mr.  Kittrell  gazed  fixedly  at  Buck  for  several  moments, 
then  at  Jodie,  then  at  his  wife.  Then  looking  up  towards 
the  ceiling,  he  combed  with  his  fingers  his  hair  from  the 
left  side  of  his  head  to  the  right,  then  from  the  right  to  the 
left.  Afterwards  lowering  his  head,  he  seemed  to  be  care 
fully  endeavoring  to  make  an  accurate  parting  in  the  mid 
dle.  Then  he  said,  in  a  mournful  voice, 

"  Ef  my  fambly  Bible  don't  tell  no  lies,  and  she  were  the 
fambly  Bible  of  my  parrents  that's  dead  and  goned,  and  she 
have  never  been  caught  in  nary  one  that  I've  ever  knewed 
of  ner  heerd  of,  I'm  of  sixty  -  eight  year  old  the  tent  o' 
March,  and  which  I've  freckwent  heerd  my  father  and  my 
mother  also  an'  likewise  say  it  were  the  time  o'  the  last 
plantin'  o'  corn,  and  by  good  rights,  if  I  live  ontell  the  next 
tent  o'  March,  I  shall  be  to  my  sixty-nine ;  and  in  my  time 


THE    MEDIATIONS    OF    MR.    ARCHIE    KITTRELL.        177 

I've  saw  of  swappiu',  and  heerd  of  swappin',  and  done  some 
of  swappin'  myself.  Buck  Kittrell,"  he  suddenly  demanded 
fiercely,  "  is  you  a-foolin'  o'  me  ?  and  ef  you  ain't,  when  did 
you  and  Jodie  swap,  and  how  come  you  to  swap?  The  good 
a' mighty !" 

"  We  are  not  foolin'  you  now,  pa,  but  we  have  been. 
When  we  found  that  you  made  the  mistake  of  my  bein' 
for  Sarann,  and  Jodie  for  Calline,  as  you  sort  o'  fixed  it  in 
your  mind,  I  and  Calline  thought  we'd  play  a  little  joke  on 
all  of  you,  and  we  overpersuaded  Jodie  and  Sarann  to  jine 
in  it.  We  didn't  mean  to  keep  it  up  but  a  fortni't  more, 
when  poor  Miss  Prissy,  she  come  in  yistiday  and  spil't  the 
joke  by  tellin'  o'  Missis  Peevy  that  Calline  and  me  was  en 
gaged,  when  you  know  you'd  hinted  to  Missis  Peevy  that  I 
wanted  Sarann,  and  poor  Miss  Prissy  told  her  a  whole  lot 
of  stuff  besides  about  the  Templins,  which  all  hurt  Missis 
Peevy's  feelin's  so  much  that  she  give  way  to  'em,  and  is 
now  sorry  for  it.  Miss  Prissy — you  see  how  it  is,  pa — she 
spil't  the  joke." 

"Yes,  she'd  spile  a  pan  o'  milk  jes'  from  the  cow  by 
lookin'  at  it,  and,  quicker'n  vinegar,  turn  it  to  clabber." 

"  I'm  sorry  for  it  all,  pa,"  said  Buck,  humbly,  "  and  I  beg 
your  pardon ;  but  it's  me  and  not  Jodie  that's  to  blame  for 
it!" 

"  No,  pa — no,  sir,"  remonstrated  Jodie.  "  If  Buck's  to  be 
blamed,  I  want  my  share.  He  went  in  seein'  the  fun  of  it, 
and  I  went  in  not  seein'  it.  I  think  I'm  even  more  to  blame 
than  Buck.  But,  pa,  I  know  you  would  rather  we'd  both 
marry  them  we  love  best." 

Tears  came  pouring  from  the  father's  eyes.  "  Jincy,"  he 
said,  softly,  "  didn't  you  say  weddin's  was  made  in  heb'n  ? 
I  think  you  did,  and  now  I  know  it's  so,  an'  I  'knowledge  I 
were  mistaken  to  denv  it." 


178       THE    MEDIATIONS    OF    MR.    ARCHIE    KITTRELL. 

He  rose,  walked  to  a  corner  of  the  room,  leaned  his  head 
against  the  wall,  and  wept  for  several  moments  in  his  limit 
less  joy.  Then  he  turned,  beckoned  them  to  come  to  him, 
and  sobbed  first  upon  Buck's  shoulder,  then  Jodie's,  then  his 
wife's. 

"Ef  anybody,"  he  said,  when  he  had  strength  to  speak — 
uef  anybody  'd  a-told  me  to-day  that  I'd  of  felt  as  good 
as  I  do  now,  and  at  the  present  time,  both  afore  and  be 
fore  of  my  goin'  to  bed,  I  should  of  told  'em  they  was  a 
liar.  Yes,  yes —  But  hello  thai1!  did  them  wimming  give 
thar  consents,  and  thai1  permissions,  and  thai1 — " 

"  Oh,  yes." 

"  The  Lord  of  mighty  !  what  did  they  think  of  me  ? — but 
let  that  all  go.  Yes,  it  wer'  a  powerful  good  joke.  Them's 
allays  good  jokes,  my  boys,  that  eends  well.  'Member  that. 
Allays  let  your  jokes  be  them  that's  to  eend  well.  I  don't 
blame  Jodie  and  Sarann  for  not  seem'  the  fun,  because 
they're  young,  and  bless  old  Jodie's  heart  for  not  of  want- 
in'  his  brother  to  have  all  the  blame.  It's  like  the  Kittr'lls 
has  been  from  everulastin'  and  for  evermore.  And  now,  to 
morrow  mornin'  yearly  —  but,  ef  you'll  believe  me,  Jincy, 
the  anexities  I've  been  through  this  blessed  day  has  made 
me  that  sleepy  that  I  got  to  go  to  bed." 

He  went  straightway  to  his  room,  and  five  minutes  after 
they  heard  as  hearty  snoring  as  the  most  affectionate  of 
wives  and  children  could  have  desired.  Mrs.  Kittrell  gently 
eluded  her  sons,  especially  Buck,  for  the  untimely  jest. 
Buck  was  the  more  penitent  because  of  the  deep  regret 
which  Mrs.  Peevy  felt  for  having  brought  the  action  against 
Mrs.  Templin.  The  fact  was  that  neither  of  the  mothers, 
each  restrained  by  natural  delicacy  and  self-respect,  had  in 
quired  of  her  daughter  respecting  her  relations  with  the 
lads;  and  though  both  had  possibly  dreamed  of  alliance 


THE    MEDIATIONS    OF    MR.    ARCHIE    KITTRELL.        181 

with  the  Kittrells,  they  would  have  been  among  the  last  so 
to  admit,  even  to  their  own  daughters,  until  knowing  that 
decisive  movements  had  been  made  by  their  suitors.  Oh, 
how  Mrs.  Peevy  that  night  did  wish  that  she  had  never  laid 
eyes  upon  Miss  Priscilla  Mattox  ! 

"  Your  pa's  the  man  to  settle  it,  Jodie,"  she  had  said  to 
the  latter  that  evening.  "  Tell  him  to  please  see  Squire 
Cofield,  and  see  what  the  damages  is  for  stoppin'  o'  the 
case.  I  sha'n't  git  no  sleep,  that  is,  no  healthy  sleep,  until 
it  are  stopped ;  and  I  do  think  I  ought  to  pay  Polly  Tem- 
plin  her  thirty  dollars,  though  Prissy  Mattix  know  I  never 
used  them  words,  nor  neither  do  I  believe  now  that  Polly 

Templin  used  hern." 

VI. 

Mr.  Kittrell  rose  next  morning,  his  countenance  exhibiting 
extreme  satisfaction,  with  brief  intervals  of  vast  indignation. 
When  a  great  man  has  become  exasperated  with  anger,  it  is 
not  to  be  expected  that  he  should  at  once  subside,  even 
when  what  originated  it  has  been  found  to  be  without  ade 
quate  foundation,  or  the  foundation  has  been  removed.  If 
Mr.  Kittrell  had  thought  to  employ  a  figure  of  speech  about 
his  own  condition  of  mind  that  morning,  it  is  not  impossi 
ble  that  he  might  have  compared  himself  with  the  lion  who, 
while  conscious  of  the  full  security  of  the  objects  of  his  care, 
however  young  or  however  frail,  yet  deems  it  not  improper 
sometimes  to  go  forth  and  roar  in  hearing  of  the  insignifi 
cant  beasts  that  had  dared  to  molest  their  hitherto  tranquil 
existence.  So,  before  saying  another  word  to  anybody,  he 
ordered  his  horse  and  urged  the  breakfast  to  be  hurried. 

"  Pa,"  said  Jodie,  "  Mrs.  Peevy  asked  me  to  tell  you  to 
please  see  Mr.  Cofield  for  her." 

Mr.  Kittrell  smiled  compassionately,  and  gave  only  an 
swer, 


382       THE    MEDIATIONS    OF    MR.    ARCHIE    KITTRELL. 

"  Like  I  weren't  goin'  to  do  that,  and  that  amcjuant." 

On  arriving  at  Hello,  and  hitching  his  horse  at  the  rack, 
he  walked  with  solemn  firmness  to  the  court-room,  a  small 
unceiled  and  otherwise  airy  house,  situate  on  a  corner  of 
the  justice's  lot. 

"  Do,  Mr.  Kittrell  ?"  said  the  magistrate  and  his  constable 
simultaneously. 

"Do,  your  honor?  do,  Mr.  Hutchins?"  answered  the 
comer  in  a  voice  that  neither  of  the  officials  remembered  to 
have  ever  heard  from  him  before.  "  My  bisuiness  here,  your 
honor,  may  it  please  the  cote,  is  to  fetch  severial  suits,  and 
ef  it's  the  same  to  you,  and  you  will  be  so  kind  and  so  con- 
duescendin'  as  to  lend  me  your  pen,  I  would  wish  and  de 
sires  to  enter  'em  up  myself,  as  some  of  'em's  dilicate  cases, 
and  would  wish  and  my  desires  'd  be  that  they're  dictatued 
right." 

"Cert'nly,"  answered  the  squire  with  alacrity,  handing 
him  a  pen.  Knowing  that  Mr.  Kittrell  had  a  good  deal  of 
money  out,  he  attributed  his  manner  to  his  well-known 
aversion  to  press  any  of  his  debtors.  So,  as  Mr.  Kittrell, 
deeply  sighing,  began  to  write,  he  thought  he  would  offer  a 
word  of  consolation. 

"  People,  Mr.  Kittrell,  has  to  know  that  people  they  owes 
money  to  has  to  sue  sometimes,  and  them  that  has  it  to  do, 
hate  it  as  they  mout,  ought  to  try  to  git  riconciled  to  it." 

Mr.  Kittrell  looked  up  at  the  squire  solemnly  for  a  mo 
ment,  then  continued  to  write,  and  write,  and  write. 

"  Monst'ous  good  man,"  whispered  Mr.  Hutchins  ;  "  won 
der  he  don't  call  us  Jim  and  Joe,  jes'  dry  so,  like  he  allays 
do." 

At  length  Mr.  Kittrell  rose,  and  thanking  his  honor  and 
Mr.  Hutchins  for  their  kindness,  walked  slowly  to  his  horse, 
and,  preparatory  to  mounting,  looked  at  the  stirrup-leathers, 


THE    MEDIATIONS    OF    MR.    ARCHIE    KITTRELL.        183 

throat-latch,  and  martingale.  In  this  while  the  officials  were 
reading  over  the  entries,  holding  the  docket  alternately  close 
to  their  eyes  and  at  arm's-length,  until,  at  last,  they  dropped 
it  upon  the  table  and  looked  at  each  other  with  dismay. 
There  were  suits  of  Archibald  Kittrell  against  Turkey  Creek 
and  William's  Creek  for  "  breakin'  inter  his  bottom  corn 
fields  corntrary  to  law."  One  was  the  State  of  Georgia 
"against  warous  persons,  o'  warous  sections  not  yit  quite 
found  out  who  they  is  and  air,  for  tattlin'  and  raisin'  fusses 
betwixt  warous  females  and  widders,  in  warous  neighbor 
hoods  in  the  county  and  State  aforesaid."  Then  there  were 
an  action  and  cross-action  between  Turkey  and  William's 
Creeks  each  against  other  for  "  crossing  one  'nother's  banks 
onbenownst  an'  onlawful."  The  list  wound  up  with 

THE  STATE  OF  GEORGIA^ 

vs.  I  J'intly  and  sererially  for 

JOSIAH  COFIELD         }•         misdemeniors  of 

and  warous  kind. 

JAMES  HUTCHINS.       J 

"Mister  Kittr'll,"  said  the  squire,  rushing  out  as  the  for 
mer  had  just  mounted  his  horse,  "  I  don't  understand  them 
cases,  and  'special'  them  that's  agin  them  two  creeks  and 
agin  me  and  Jim." 

"  Why,  w'at  the  matter  'ith  the  creeks,  Joe  Cofield?" 

"I  don't  see,"  said  Joe,  in  candid  remonstrance,  "how 
we're  to  send  summonses  to  them  peop — to  them — cree- 
ters." 

"  Didn't  you  send  one  to  that  stray  stump-tail  yearlin' 
what  broke  in  Bias  Buggamy's  field  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  but  Bias  'knowledge  service." 

"  Well,  sir,"  answered  Mr.  Kittrell,  growing  louder  and 
more  loud,  "  can't  I,  or  can't  Missuis  Peevy,  or  can't  Missuis 


184        THE    MEDIATIONS    OF    MR.    ARCHIE    KITTRELL. 

Templing  'knowledge  service  for  them  creeks,  as  we  all  three 
of  us  is  linded  and  bounded  by  'era  ?  And  as  for  the  case 
agin  you  and  Jim  Hutchins,  I  supposuing  that  the  State  o' 
Georgy  ought  to  know  how  to  take  keer  o'  her  cases,  both 
them  everywhar  else  and  them  at  the  present  bare." 

Then,  lifting  high  his  arm,  and  standing  heavily  upon 
the  stirrups,  Mr.  Kittrell  roared  in  a  way  that — well,  both 
his  auditors  declared  upon  honor  afterwards  that  "  if  any 
body  had  of  told  them  that  the  ole  man  Kittr'll  could  of 
got  mad  as  he  were  then,  they  should  have  been  obleeged 
to  call  'em  a  liar." 

"  I  got  no  time,"  said  Mr.  Kittrell,  foaming  at  the  mouth, 
"to  tarry  along  o'  you  and  Jim  Hutchins  about  the  p'ints 
o'  law  in  your  little  ole  cote  o'  suin'  o'  creeks  and  stump- 
tail  yearlin's.  They  can  be  'tended  to  on  sossorarers  to  the 
s'perior  cote.  You  two  men,  both  o'  you,  knows  that  ef 
I'm  a  man  of  not  many  words  as  some,  I  allays  means  'em 
when  I  says  'em ;  and  sence  this  Hello  deestric'  is  open, 
'pears  like,  for  all  kind  o'  suin',  man  an*  beast,  maled  cm' 
femaled,  widders  an*  widders — mark  what  I  say,  widders  an* 
widders — I  ain't  goin'  to  stop  tell  I  find  out  who  started 
this  bisuiness,  not  ef  I  has  to  sue  the  nuniversual  world. 
And  as  for  your  witnesses — but  go  'long,  Selom.  If  I  stay 
here,  I  mout  git  to  cussin'.  Go  on,  Selom,  and  less  leave 
this  awful  place." 

Selim  dashed  off  in  a  canter,  as  if  eager,  equally  with  his 
master,  to  turn  his  back  upon  the  scene. 

"  The  fact  of  the  whole  bisuiness  were,"  said  the  old  man, 
in  telling  it,  "I  were  that  mad  that  I  daresn't  begin  on 
Joe  Cofield  and  Jim  Hutchins  ontell  I  got  on  top  o'  Selom 
ready  to  leave  'em.  For  I  didn't  want  to  skeer  the  po' 
creeters  out'n  thar  very  hides ;  but  even  the  gentuil  cautions 
I  let  out  on  'em  come  a-nigh  of  doin'  of  it,  an',  as  I  knewed 


THE    MEDIATIONS    OF    MR.   ARCHIE    KITTRELL.        185 

it  would,  scattered  thar  perseduances  to  the  four  cornders 
of  the  yearth." 

Jim  Hutchins  used  to  give  a  brief  account  of  his  first 
actions  after  Mr.  Kittrell's  departure. 

"  Joe  said  I  better  go  amejiant  to  Jim  Lazenberry's  and 
see  ole  Miss  Priss.  I  found  her  in  the  weavin'-room,  and  she 
hilt  her  shickle  ready  to  put  her  through  the  warp.  I  told 
her  how  Missis  Peevy  have  sued  Missis  Templing,  and  how 
Missus  Templing  have  sued  back  on  to  Missis  Peevy,  and  both 
a-countin'  on  her  for  everdence.  That  made  her  turn  pale. 
Then  I  up,  I  did,  and  told  her  of  the  ole  man  Kittr'll  a-fetch- 
in'  suit  agin  me  and  Joe,  and  agin  both  the  creeks,  and  them 
agin  one  'nother,  and  the  way  he  talk,  I  were  a-spectin'  he'd 
begin  soon  on  the  two  uieetin'-houses ;  and,  the  fact  were, 
they  warn't  no  tell  in'  whar  the  ole  man  would  stop,  he  were 
that  mad  about  Missis  Templing  and  Missis  Peevy  of  bein' 
of  onuseless  put  agin  one  'nother  by  onknown  people ;  and 
I  wouldn't  be  s'prised  ef  he  didn't  stop  ontell  he  had  fotch 
suit  agin  every  man,  'oman,  and  child,  black  and  white,  in 
the  neighborhood,  and  the  'Geechee  River  to  boot.  The 
ole  lady  dropped  her  shickle,  she  did,  she  slid  off  the  loom- 
bench,  gethered  her  things  in  a  hankercher,  and  scooted. 
Whar  she  halted  and  put  up  at  I  never  knowed." 

If  Mr.  Kittrell  became  a  little  "  disguised  "  at  the  infare, 
from  apple-jack,  as  he  rather  admitted  afterwards,  it  was 
the  first  and  only  time  in  his  married  life,  and  was  due  to 
a  fond  intention  to  set  his  boys,  at  the  outset  of  their  adult 
careers,  an  example  of  "  giving  and  taking,"  by  imbibing 
toddy  out  of  what  he  named  Buck's  bar1!  (that  had  been 
distilled  at  the  latter's  birth),  to  Buck  and  Calline,  and 
another  to  Jodie  and  Sarann,  and  afterwards  reversing  from 
Jodie's  bar'l.  "  I  were  arfter  settin'  a  egzampuil,  an'  the 
inixin'  o'  deffernt  sperrits,  I'm  afeard,  made  me  k'yar  the 


186       THE    MEDIATIONS    OF    MR.    ARCHIE    KITTRELL. 

thing  a  leetle  too  fur."  He  ever  was  fond  to  speak  at 
length  of  the  profound  wisdom  evinced  by  himself  in  the 
reconciliation  of  the  Templins  and  Peevys,  and  its  just  re 
ward,  the  obtainment  of  Calline  and  Sarann  for  his  daughters- 
in-law. 

"Hadn't  been  for  me,  them  wimming  ud  of  been  cats- 
an'-dogs  now  an'  for  evermore ;  and,  as  for  Calline  and  Sar 
ann,  they'd  a-been  scattered  to  Dan  and  Basherby." 

Calline  having  made  a  Baptist  of  Buck,  and  Sarann  a 
Methodist  of  Jodie,  Mr.  Kittrell  knew  that  it  would  never 
do  to  ruin,  or  at  least  discourage  and  perhaps  demoralize, 
Big  Spring  or  William's  Creek,  by  throwing  the  weight  of 
his  mighty  influence  upon  its  rival ;  so  he  continued  to 
maintain  with  calm  firmness  the  balance  of  power. 

"  Yes,  yes,  yes,"  he  would  often  say  blandly,  yet  with 
decision — "  oh,  yes.  It's  your  Babtuis,  and  your  Methudis, 
and  it's  your  sprinkuling,  and  your  pedestruinashing,  and 
it's  all  right;  but  ray  moto  is  —  you  all  better 'member 
them  words,  and  not  forgit  'em — my  moto  is — egzampuil." 


THE  EIV ALKIES  OF 
MR.  TOBY  GILLAM. 


"  His  rolling  eyes  did  never  rest  in  place, 
But  walked  each  where  for  fear  of  his  mischance." 

Faerie  Queene. 

I. 

FOR  quite  a  time  anterior  to  the  events  I  propose  to  nar 
rate,  Mr.  Toby  Gillam  had  been  the  leading  coffin-maker  in 
the  neighborhood,  priding  in  his  art  and  charging  for  it. 
For  jobs  done  for  the  dead,  I  often  have  observed  that  not 
only  artisans,  but  workers  of  all  grades,  grave-diggers,  phy 
sicians,  lawyers — I  do  not  know  who  all — generally  claim 
what  by  a  sort  of  ironical  grim  antithesis  they  call  a  living 
compensation,  which  is  higher  than  that  exacted  for  those 
done  on  other  occasions.  Perhaps  these  industrious  persons 
deem  it  advisable  to  make  the  best  possible  out  of  last  op 
portunities.  Perhaps  they  imagine  themselves  to  be  aiming 
for  what  will  console,  as  far  as  such  a  thing  can  be  made 
adequate,  for  the  loss  of  friends  and  neighbors.  Anyhow, 
Toby  Gillam  was  not  the  man  to  turn  aside  from  all  prece 
dents,  and  have  his  feelings  wrought  upon  by  the  saddest  of 
all  work,  for  nothing,  and  he  as  good  as  said  so  many  and 
many  a  time.  Resoluteness  in  this  behalf,  and  possibly  hab 
itude,  had  served  in  time  to  let  him  appear  placid,  if  not 


188  THE    RIVALRIES    OF    MR.   TOBY    GILLAM. 

with  some  little  gnfin  of  cheerfulness,  when  engaged  in  what 
he  had  learned  to  do  so  well. 

This  was  all  before  the  Griggses  moved  in,  settling  within 
a  mile  of  where  the  Gillams  had  dwelt  always. 

Now  when  it  was  ascertained  that  Mr.  Griggs  (Harmon 
Griggs  was  his  name  in  full),  though  mainly  a  farmer,  had 
often  made  coffins,  and  would  take  jobs  of  the  kind  yet  if 
pressed,  Mr.  Gillam's  mind  was  disturbed ;  and  when,  not 
long  afterwards,  old  Mr.  Packet  died,  on  whom  he  thought 
he  could  count  with  entire  security,  and  the  new-comer  was 
employed  to  put  the  old  man  away,  Mr.  Gillam  was  out 
spoken.  Yet  what  he  hated  the  most  about  it,  he  said,  was 
that  the  whole  thing  was  such  a  piece  of  botch-work.  In 
time  the  question  arose,  who  was  the  better  workman  ?  The 
most  thoughtful  and  fair-minded  among  the  neighbors, 
though  never  very  pronounced  anyway,  yet,  if  compelled, 
would  probably  have  rated  them  about  even  in  jobs  of  the 
kind  for  adults,  and  in  those  for  children,  especially  in  pop 
lar,  given  Mr.  Gillam  some  advantage.  As  for  him,  he  never 
went,  as  well  as  I  remember,  to  the  length  of  saying  that 
rather  than  be  put  into  one  of  Harmon  Griggs's  boxes,  he 
would  prefer  never  being  buried  at  all,  but  he  nearly  inti 
mated  as  much  ;  and  as  for  Harmon's  charges,  why,  a  man 
that  did  half  work,  he  contended,  must  expect  to  get  half 
pay.  Harmon's  opinions  on  the  subject  nobody  knew,  for 
he  was  a  quiet,  reticent  sort  of  person,  neighborly,  accom 
modating,  and  everybody  in  the  community  except  Mr.  Gil 
lam  grew  to  like  him.  Even  Mrs.  Gillam  and  her  two  daugh 
ters — Jane,  twenty,  and  Susan,  fifteen — had  been  heard  often 
to  say  that  the  Griggses,  the  whole  of  them,  were  as  good 
neighbors  as  they  should  ever  wish  to  live  by. 

Mr.  Griggs  had  been  a  widower  some  two  or  three  years. 
His  children  were  Morgan,  now  eighteen,  and  little  Betsy, 


THE    RIVALRIES    OF    MR.    TOBY    GILLAM. 


189 


born  a  week  before  her  mother's  death.  His  house  since 
that  event  had  been  kept  by  his  sister  Mandy,  who  was 
about  twenty-one. 


UA    MAN    THAT    DID    HALF    WORK,    HE    CONTENDED,   MUST    EXPECT    TO    GET 
HALF   PAY." 


Both  men  had  good  farms  and  a  few  negroes,  Mr.  Griggs 
rather  more  of  these  than  Mr.  Gil  lam.  He  was  tall,  dark, 
deliberate  in  his  conversation  and  carriage.  Mr.  Gillam, 
rather  under  middle  height,  of  reddish  hair  and  complex- 


190  THE    RIVALRIES    OF    MR.  TOBY    GILLAM. 

ion,  was  restless,  nervous,  suspicious.  People  used  to  say 
that  he  would  have  practised  despotism  at  home  if  his  wife, 
who  was  some  larger  than  he,  had  allowed  it.  Mr.  Griggs, 
who  in  his  family  was  quite  a  gentle,  indulgent  man,  had 
always  shown  the  disposition  to  be  as  friendly  with  the  Gil- 
lams  as  with  the  rest  of  the  neighbors.  Indeed,  if  anything, 
he  was  specially  so  to  them  in  all  neighborly  offices.  "  No, 
sir — no,  sir"  he  would  say,  with  moderate  emphasis,  in  an 
swer  to  certain  remarks  that  came  to  his  ears  sometimes, 
"  it's  not  because  o'  Jane  Gillam,  a-not'ithunderstandin'  to 
my  opinions  she's  a  oncommon  fine  young  'oman ;  yit  I'd 
feel  like  bein'  jest  as  obleegin'  to  Mr.  Gillam  ef  he  didn't 
have  no  daughter  Jane ;  fer  I'm  a  man,  and  if  I  know  my 
self  I've  allays  ben  a  man,  that  would  wish  to  live  an'  let 
live." 

I  declare  I  don't  remember  what  kind  of  sickness  it  was 
that  carried  off  little  Betsy  a  year  or  so  after  the  settlement 
there.  But  Jane  Gillam,  and  Susan  too,  young  as  she  was, 
rendered  as  willing,  constant,  efficient  service  as  if  the  child 
had  been  their  own  dear  sister.  But  what  touched  the  heart 
of  Mr.  Gillam,  temporarily  at  least,  was  what  Mr.  Griggs 
said  to  him  when,  in  pursuance  of  a  request  sent  through 
Morgan  for  him  to  please  come  over  there,  he  did  so 
promptly. 

"  Mr.  Gillam,  I  not  only  hain't  the  heart  to  do  it  myself, 
but  also  them  lovely  poplar  coffins  you  makes  fer  childern 
is  better  work  'n  I  can  do.  Won't  you  make  one  to  put 
poor  little  Betsy  away  in  ?" 

Mr.  Gillam  acknowledged  to  several  persons  that  he  could 
have  cried  when  he  heard  these  words.  After  that  the  good 
feeling  that  had  already  been  among  the  ladies  of  the  two 
families  included,  to  a  degree,  the  men.  A  little  more  visit 
ing  began,  most  marked,  and  naturally,  on  the  part  of  Mr. 


THE    KIV  ALKIES    OF    MR.    TOBY    GILLAM.  191 

Griggs,  who  being,  as  he  was  wont  to  style  himself,  nobody 
of  any  description  but  a  poor  lone  widower  with  just  one 
child,  and  him  about  a  man,  or  at  least  thinking  himself  a 
man,  would  ride  or  walk  over,  and  sit  and  chat  with  resigna 
tion,  and  sometimes,  it  might  be,  with  a  bit  of  cheerfulness. 
During  such  visits,  and  when  the  ladies  would  visit  at  his 
own  house,  he  was  always  decorous,  especially  towards  Jane. 
If  he  ever  had  a  heart  for  remarks  that  were  at  all  playful, 
these  for  the  most  part  were  addressed  to  Mrs.  Gillam  or 
Susan,  or  both. 

"The  ijee!  Harm  Griggs  ole  enough  to  be  Jane's  father, 
Missis  Rainwater !"  Mr.  Gillam  said  one  day  to  a  neighbor. 

"  He  ain't.  An'  sposen  he  is  :  what  man-person  stands  on 
age  in  sech  cases  ?" 

"  Well,  now,  Missis  Rainwater,  it  'pen'  on  circum'ances. 
Ef  Harm  Griggs  is  to  keep  on — " 

"  Stop  right  thar,  Mr.  Gillam — stop  right  thar.  Jane  Gil 
lam  is  a  grown  'oman,  an'  if  she  an'  Mr.  Griggs  make  it  out 
betwix'  theirselves,  why,  it  ain't  worth  your  whiles  to  try  to 
hender  'em." 

Mr.  Gillam  ruminated  over  these  remarks.  Now  that  the 
season  of  bilious-fever  was  coming  on,  he  was  conscious  that 
the  friendly  feelings  which  he  had  been  indulging  towards  his 
rival  were  beginning  to  subside  with  the  lapse  of  the  last  of 
the  summer  months,  and  he  was  not  certain  in  his  mind  how 
he  ought  to  regard  the  hints  of  Mrs.  Rainwater.  Little  had 
he  foreseen  that  his  own  wife  was  to  be  the  first  victim  to 
the  autumnal  malady.  It  is  not  strange  how  kindly  serv 
ices  on  such  occasions  subdue  envyings  and  jealousies.  Day 
and  night  had  Mandy  Griggs  tended  that  bedside,  and  her 
brother  and  Morgan  had  done  all  that  was  possible,  and 
showed  every  disposition  to  do  more.  Nobody  was  sur 
prised  that  Harmon  Griggs  was  to  make  the  coffin,  and 
13 


192 


THE    RIVALRIES    OF    ME.    TOBY    GILLAM. 


some  tears  stood   in   the   eyes  of  the  latest  bereaved  at 
these  words : 

"  In  co'se  I  make  it,  Mr.  Gillam,  an'  I'll  do  my  best  to  do 
jestice  to  the — to  the  'quirements  of — of  as  fine  a  'oman,  to 
my  jedgments,  as  this  or  any  other  country — in  fac',  I  feel 
tow'ds  Missis  Gillam  like  she  were — why,  law,  Mr.  Gillam, 


HARMON    GRIGGS  S. 


I  couldn't  agzactly  tell  how  I  did,  an'  how  yit  I  do,  feel 
tow'ds  Missis  Gillam.  An'  as  it's  the  last  coffin  I  ever  ex 
pects  to  make,  an'  as  it's  for  one  who  were  to  me  what  Miss 
is  Gillam  were,  I'll  do  as  well  as  I  know  how,  an'  my  feelin's 
'11  be  hurted  ef  anybody  offers  to  pay  me  one  single  cent 
for  it." 

Mr.  Gillam  knew  that  he  would  be  a  brute  not  to  be  af- 


THE    RIVALRIES    OF    MR.   TOBY    GILLAM.  193 

fected  by  such  words,  and  as  he  wrung  Mr.  Griggs's  hand 
the  tears  actually  dropped  from  his  eyes. 

If  ever  a  man  faithfully  tried  his  hand  at  his  art,  it  was 
done  then.  The  most  intimate  friend  and  zealous  partisan 
that  Mr.  Gillam  ever  had  could  hardly  have  said,  with  his 
hand  on  the  Book,  that  he  could  double  it  in  every  partic 
ular. 

"  Look  like  to  me,"  said  old  Mr.  Pate,  "  that  Harmon 
were  never  goin'  to  git  done  san'paperin'  his  planks,  an'  I 
don't  'member  as  uver  I  see  a  man  that  tuck  the  time  Har 
mon  tuck  in  the  mixin'  o'  his  lam'black  an'  his  sperrits  o? 
turkintime." 

"  What  tuck  me  the  moest,"  said  Mrs.  Pate,  "  were  the 
turn  he  give  ter  them  elbows.  They  was  jes'  lovely ;  an' 
when  they  laid  poor  dear  Polly  Gillam  in,  it  seem  to  me, 
'pear  like,  that  they  wa'n't  no  defiance  more'n  she'd  'a'  been 
a-layin  in  her  own  blessed  bed." 

II. 

Equidistant  from  the  two  families,  near  a  country  road 
that  crossed  about  midway  the  public  on  which  the  two' 
families  resided,  dwelt  the  Rainwaters.  But  for  her  em 
phatic  remonstrances  against  such  a  figure,  Mrs.  Rainwater 
might  have  been  taken  for  forty,  or  a  little  on  the  rise. 
Her  husband  had  deceased  four  or  five  years  before,  leaving 
a  right  snug  little  property  to  her  and  their  only  son  Ben, 
who  was  about  the  same  age  as  Morgan  Griggs — perhaps  a 
year  older. 

Ben  always  became  indignant  whenever  the  possibility  of 
his  mother's  marrying  again  was  mentioned  in  his  hearing 
— too  much  so,  she  thought. 

"Benny,"  she  said  to  him  more  than  once,  "don't  you 
bother  your  head  and  fret  about  my  gitting  of  married 


194  THE    RIVALRIES    OF    MR.    TOBY    GILLAM. 

again.  I've  got  no  idees  on  top  o'  that  subjec',  an'  don't 
expect  to  have  'em,  oralest  my  mind  change.  But  that'll  be 
my  business,  an'  nobody  else's.  It'll  come  to  a  nice  pass 
when  a  body's  own  an'  onlest  son  have  to  tell  his  own  moth 
er  what  she  must  do  an'  what  she  mustn't.  Look  like  you, 
when  to  my  knowledge  your  wisdom-tooth's  a-hurtin'  you 
now  a-tryin'  to  push  through  your  gums,  is  a-thinkin'  about 
settlin'  o'  yourself  'ithout  a-consultin'  o'  me,  an'  by  good 
rights  you  might  let  me  'tend  to  my  business,  if  I  ever  git 
any  o7  that  kind  to  'tend  to." 

Ben  pondered  such  words  at  his  leisure.  Nobody  that 
knew  Susan  Gillam  ever  blamed  him  for  thinking  a  great 
deal  of  her,  for  though  not  as  handsome  as  Jane,  yet  she 
was  plump,  taller,  fairer,  and  kept  up  a  steady  improvement 
as  she  grew  on,  in  the  matter  of  the  various  qualities  of 
person  and  deportment  and  character  that  the  unmarried, 
whether  those  who  have  or  those  who  have  not  quite  cut 
their  eye-teeth,  like  to  see  in  a  girl. 

If  Morgan  Griggs  had  not  been  so  intimate  and  dear  a 
friend  of  Ben's,  it  was  thought  that  he  might  have  run 
against  him  in  that  race.  But  Morgan  was  an  honorable 
boy,  or  young  man,  as,  in  spite  of  the  absence  of  all  rivalry 
with  Ben,  he  perhaps  would  have  preferred  to  be  called,  and 
Ben  was  without  the  shadow  of  jealousy  towards  him. 

The  very  best  feeling  had  always  been  between  the  Rain 
waters  and  both  the  other  families.  Ben  confided  all  his 
secrets  to  Morgan  whom  he  loved  like  a  brother,  and  they 
would  sometimes  laugh  together  at  the  idea  of  Mrs.  Rain 
water  or  anybody  else  supposing  that  they  were  not  men, 
and  did  not  know  how  to  take  care  of  themselves.  If  Mor 
gan  ever  revealed  to  his  father  and  aunt  any  of  such  confi 
dence,  it  was  not  done  in  a  way  that  would  hurt.  Instead 
of  that,  they,  especially  Mandy,  seemed  to  take  an  interest 


THE  RIVALRIES  OF  MR.  TOBY  GILLAM.      195 

in  Ben's  hopes  and  ambitions.  Indeed,  Mandy  Griggs, 
though  not  as  handsome  as  some,  was  one  of  the  very  nicest 
young  women  every  way  in  that  whole  country.  If  she  had 
not  married,  it  had  not  been  for  want  of  opportunities. 
Her  devotion  to  her  brother  and  his  family  was  ardent,  and 
possibly  that  had  been  the  reason  for  apparent  indifference 
on  the  subject  of  beaux. 

We  have  seen  that  Mr.  Gillam  had  received  Mrs.  Rainwa 
ter's  allusion  to  some  special  liking  on  the  part  of  Mr. 
Griggs  for  Jane  with  a  sort  of  contingent  resentment.  This 
had  about  gone  out  of  his  mind  since  the  utterance  of  the 
words  of  Mr.  Griggs  on  the  occasion  of  the  melancholy 
service  which  he  had  lately  rendered  in  a  manner  so  emi 
nently  conciliatory,  and  in  a  few  weeks  it  had  been  succeed 
ed  by  a  cordiality  that  in  a  man  like  Mr.  Gillam  might  be 
called  extreme.  His  daughter  Jane,  if  not  the  first,  was 
among  them,  to  observe  this  change,  and  to  divine  its  most 
controlling  cause. 

"  Pa,"  she  said  to  him  one  day,  "  it  seems  to  me  that  peo 
ple,  when  their  wives  haven't  been  dead  but  just  three 
months,  that  they  ought  to  try  to  be  decent.  Ma's  children 
haven't  forgot  her  if  other  people  have." 

"  Now  lookee  here,  Jane.  I  'members  your  ma,  an'  I  miss 
es  her  more'n  you  an'  Susan  do.  But  your  ma's  dead  an' 
goned,  an'  she's  goned  to  heb'n,  an'  even  if  a  body  was  to 
want  to  fetch  her  back,  you  know  well  as  I  do  that  they 
couldn't," 

"  The  question  ain't  for  bringing  ma  back,  pa  ;  it's  for 
trying  to  bring  another  woman  here  to  take  her  place,  and 
that  before —  Look  at  Mr.  Griggs,  pa.  See  how  long  his 
wife's  been  dead,  and  him  single  yet." 

"  And  what's  the  reason  ?  It's  only  because  Missis  Rain 
water  wouldn't  have  him — " 


196  THE    RIVALRIES    OF    MR.   TOBY    GILLAM. 

"  I  haven't  an  idee  that  Mr.  Griggs  ever  asked  her,"  Jane 
interrupted,  with  what  to  her  father  seemed  considerable 
feeling. 

"Umph,  humph!"  he  said,  rather  pleased  at  the  sight. 
"  Then  I  suppose,  because  Harm  Griggs,  havin'  nobody  to 
powide  for  exceptin'  o'  them  that's  able  to  powide  for 
theirselves,  an'  havin'  of  a  sister  to  take  keer  o'  his  housell 
affairs,  may  take  his  time,  an'  wait  tell  the  pullets  is  got 
grown,  an'  I'm  to  roam  aroun'  like  a  ole  rooster  in  a  flock 
all  by  myself,  ner  nother  look  ner  nother — " 

"Law,  pa !  such  talk  from  a  man  that's  just  been  made  a 
widower,  and  as  old  as  you  are  in  the  bargain  !" 

"  Old  as  I  am !  I'm  as  young  a  man  as  Harm  Griggs,  er 
nigh  an'  about." 

"That  you  ain't.  I  heard  him  tell  ma,  not  long  before 
she  died,  that  he  was  thirty-seven,  and  would  be  thirty-eight 
his  next  birthday,  while  you  know,  and  your  face  and  head 
shows,  you're  over  forty-five." 

"  What  a  man,  an'  'special'  what  a  marryin'  man,  says  'bout 
his  age  ain't  allays  the  Bible  truth ;  I've  allays  knowed  that 
from  a  plenty  o'  expeunce.  An'  as  fer  waitin'  like  him, 
maybe  ef  my  wife  had  of  died  when  I  were  younger — " 

"Ah,  pa,  you'd  have  done  just  as  you  are  trying  to  do 
now.  I  say  trying,  for  that's  all  you'll  do  in  what  you've 
first  got  on  your  mind.  That  is,  that's  my  opinion." 

"  Maybe  so,  madam,  maybe  so.  But  they  ain't  jes'  one 
lone  fish  in  the  sea.  You  think,  Jane  Gillam,  because  you 
an'  Harm  Griggs  has  settled  everything  betwix'  you  two, 
that — that — " 

lie  did  not  finish  the  sentence.  She  looked  at  him  with 
a  look  that  indicated  grief,  ridicule,  and  compassion  ;  then 
turned  away. 

He  had  always  been  a  man  that  acted  promptly  upon  his 


THE    RIVALRIES    OF    MR.   TOBY    GILLAM.  197 

convictions  and  the  purposes  that  he  had  formed  in  his 
mind.  Doubtless  his  action  was  now  accelerated  somewhat 
by  Jane's  interference,  in  his  opinion  wholly  unwarrantable. 
A  day  or  two  after  this  brief  conversation,  happening  to 
meet  Mr.  Griggs  in  the  road,  he  said,  after  multitudes  of 
preliminary  words,  "  Harmon,  ain't  it  cur'ous  how  deaths  in 
famblies  does  fetch  a  man  down,  an'  fetch  him  up  also  like- 
ways,  in  his  feelin's?  I  declar'  the  makin'  o'  that  coffin  fer 
your  little  Betsy,  an'  your  of  makin'  o'  that  lovely  coffin  fer 
my  po'  wife — an'  which  I  know  the  same  as  ef  I  were  thar 
myself  this  very  minute  that  she's  in  mansions  in  the  sky 
— them  coffins  has  somehow  —  them  same  blessed  coffins, 
Harmon  Griggs,  they  jes'  natchel  makes  me  feel  like  me  an' 
you  was  jes'  jinded  together,  an'  bounded  together,  an'  rnul- 
\\plided  together,  like,  you  may  say — like  brothers,  Har 
mon." 

The  habitual  paucity  of  Mr.  Griggs's  words,  contrasted 
with  his  own,  had  led  Mr.  Gillam  to  regard  his  understand 
ing  of  comparatively  limited  volume.  Yet  now,  since  he 
had  announced  his  retirement  from  the  coffin-making  field, 
and  especially  as  he  had  Mandy  for  a  sister,  he  thought  him 
of  sufficient  consideration  to  be  treated  with  concerning  cer 
tain  items  of  merchandise  that  each  considered  valuable. 

After  some  little  delay  to  this  last  remark,  Mr.  Griggs  an 
swered,  "  Yes,  sir,  Mr.  Gillarn  "  (he  always  addressed  him 
with  Mister),  "  I  done  my  levellest  best  on  that  coffin.  Be 
cause  Missis  Gillam  somehow  allays  felt  to  me  like,  I  may 
say — like  a  mother." 

Mr.  Gillam  winced  at  this  alteration  of  his  idea  of  their 
relationship,  but  answered, "  She  were  a  older  person  'n  me, 
I  s'pose  you  knowed,  Harmon." 

"  So  I — so  I've  heerd  you  say,  Mr.  Gillam." 

Mr. Gillam  excused  the  use  of  the  word  "mother"  in  that 


198  THE    RIVALRIES    OF  MR.  TOBY    GILLAM. 

connection,  knowing,  of  course,  that  Harmon  was  thinking 
mainly  of  Jane. 

"  I  do  think,  'pon  my  soul,  Harmon,"  said  he,  changing 
the  subject,  "  I've  often*'mired  how  your  sister  Mandy,  fine 
a  young  'oman  as  she  is,  could  jes'  fling  down  everything, 
an'  go  an'  take  charges  o'  her  brother's  dimestic  business 
ontwell  he  got  ready  to  settle  hisself  ag'in,  an' — in  fac',  Har 
mon,  you've  stood  a-bein'  of  a  wid'wer  longer'n  I  could,  an' 
in  which  events,  reason'ble  to  s'pose,  Mandy  might  see,  by 
good  rights,  that  she  well  change  her  kinditions — ahem  ! — 
fer  when  once  a  female  'oman  have  k'yard  the  smoke-'ouse 
keys,  she  ain't  goin'  to  be  riconciled  to  be  'ithout  smoke- 
'ouse  keys  o'  some  kind." 

"  Mandy,  Mr.  Gillam,  have  been  a  mighty  good  sister  to 
me,  an'  a  mother  to  my  childern,  you  may  say,  an'  ef  she 
ever  make  up  her  mind  to  change  her  kinditions,  she  know 
I  ain't  goin'  to  be  ag'in  it,  an'  /  know  that  ef  I  were,  make 
no  deffernce;  for  Mandy's  a  woman  o'  her  own  head,  Man 
dy  is." 

In  the  course  of  the  conversation  Mr.  Gillam  raised  and 
dwelt  at  some  length  upon  the  great  subjects  of  barter  and 
exchange,  without  special  naming  of  any  one  commodity. 
He  coursed  around  and  about,  and  ended  by  saying:  "My 
ijees  is,  Harmon  Griggs,  that  when  a  couple  o'  men  has  a 
couple  o' — well,  you  may  call'  em  a  couple  o'  goods,  for  the 
present  argament  o'  the  time  bein',  an'  one  '11  suit  one,  an' 
t'other  t'other,  an'  both  feels  like  they  ruther  give  an'  take, 
take  an'  give,  than  to  hoi'  on  jes'  so  to  whut  they  got,  which 
ain't  adzackly  the  article  both  of  'em  need  fer  the  present 
time  bein',  an'  no  multiplyin'  o'  words  about  boot,  an'  the 
askin'  o'  boot,  an'  the  payin'  o'  boot,  why,  now,  sir,  thar's 
what  I  call  doin'  o'  business  in  a  straight-up-an'-down,  picas- 
ant,  an',  you  may  say,  satisfactuous  way — ahem  !" 


THE    RIVALRIES    OF    MR.  TOBY    GILL  AM.  199 

Mr.  Griggs,  with  his  comparatively  inferior  understand 
ing,  could  only  answer  to  this  profound  discourse :  "  Of 
co'se,  Mr.  Gillam,  I  suppose  you're  about  right.  I  were 
never  a  man  as  studied  politics,  that  is,  to  no  great  extents' 
except  a-wotin'  for  them  I  knows  the  best  an'  likes  the  best ; 
but  I  s'pect  you're  right." 

That  night  in  his  family  Mr.  Gillam,  in  spite  of  any  men 
tal  reservations  regarding  Mr.  Griggs's  intellectual  vigor, 
spoke  in  more  cordial  terms  of  him  than  any  that  he  had 
ever  employed  before ;  so  much  so  that  not  only  Jane,  but 
even  Susan,  was  gratified. 

III. 

Mr.  Gillam  did  not  make  the  visit  contemplated  by  him 
on  the  very  next  day,  for  I  must  do  him  the  justice  to  say 
that  he  had  waited  full  three  months  before  ordering  from 
Mr.  Jordan,  the  tailor,  a  full  new  suit,  out  and  out.  This 
was  received  on  the  evening  of  the  day  after  that  on  which 
the  late  conversation  with  Mr.  Griggs  took  place.  The  lat 
ter  gentleman  had  been  wearing  his  new  suit  for  some  time, 
not  only  on  Sundays,  but  occasionally  week-days.  On  the 
next  morning  the  two  met  each  other  at  the  cross-roads, 
and  both  smiled,  Mr.  Gillam  audibly,  before  and  after  their 
salutations.  They  had  exchanged  only  a  few  words  when 
who  should  come  up  but  Mrs.  Rainwater  on  her  riding-horse, 
dressed  in  her  best  frock. 

"  Well,  well,"  said  the  lady,  "  when  did  we  three  expect 
to  meet  at  the  cross-roads  before,  as  the  Bible  says — I  be 
lieve  it's  the  Bible — and  all  three  got  on  our  best,  same  as 
if  it  was  of  a  Sunday  like,  and  us  on  the  way  to  meetin'  ? 
I  were  on  my  way  to  your  house,  Mr.  Gillam,  to  see  the 
girls,  poor  childern.  You  goin'  to  town,  I  see.  All  right. 


200  THE    RIVALRIES    OF    MR.   TOBY    GILLAM. 

I  can  have  better  time  with  Jane  and  Susan.  Where  you 
goin',  Mr.  Griggs?" 

"I — I  were  jest  a-ridin'  pe-rusin'  about,  Missis  Rainwa 
ter.  As  you  goin'  to  Mr.  Gillam's,  an'  ef  you  can't  do  no 
better,  I'll  ga-lant  you  that  fur." 

"  All  right,     Mornin',  Mr.  Gillara." 

Without  further  speech  she  rode  on,  joined  by  Mr. 
Griggs.  Mr.  Gillam  looked  at  her  for  a  moment  or  so 
before  resuming  his  journey.  She  was  a  handsome  woman, 
and  had  never  appeared  to  better  advantage,  he  thought, 
during  all  her  widowhood. 

"  Marryin'  female  person,  cert'n,"  he  soliloquized,  and  rode 
on. 

Voluble  of  speech  as  he  was  in  general,  somehow  the 
words  which  he  would  employ  in  hinting  to  Miss  Griggs 
his  intentions  were  unsatisfactory  at  the  start.  Morgan, 
upon  his  arrival,  of  course,  after  the  most  polite  salutation, 
vanished,  and  left  the  field  clear ;  for  Morgan,  young  as  ho 
was,  knew  what  that  suit  of  clothes  meant.  Mandy  (none 
but  the  youngest  persons  in  those  times  said  miss  to 
girls) — Mandy,  though  no  doubt  at  least  as  observant  as 
Morgan,  received  the  visitor  in  her  working-dress  and  apron, 
looked  calmly  at  him,  talked  calmly  with  him,  asked  calmly 
about  the  girls,  and  spoke  calmly  about  the  state  of  the 
weather.  This  calmness  embarrassed  Mr.  Gillam.  He  had 
hoped  to  see  some  impartation  of  the  warmth  he  felt  in  his 
own  being.  For  he  had  thought  that  unless  such  appear 
ance  was  vouchsafed  he  would  merely  feel  his  way  along, 
and  not  make  at  once  a  positive  committal.  A  shrewd 
man  like  him  could  not  fail  to  understand  that  other  possi 
ble  matrimonial  prospects  might  be  hurt  by  a  flat  rejection 
of  his  first  essay  on  that  line.  He  discoursed  at  length  on 
the  married  estate,  its  superiority  to  the  single  in  all  points 


THE    RIVALRIES    OF    MR.    TOBY    GILLAM.  201 

which  the  imagination  of  man  could  possibly  conceive. 
Then  he  indulged  in  expressions  of  unlimited  wonder  how 
a  person,  a  widower  like  Harmon  Griggs,  about  whom  he 
had  asked  of  himself  the  question  over  and  over  again,  es 
pecially  of  late,  how  such  a  man  could  have  remained  a 
widower  so  long,  with  the  world  before  him.  After  such 
and  other  extended  preliminary  remarks,  he  said  that  an 
other  question,  more  important  and  interesting  still,  had 
been  on  his  mind  lately,  and  that  was  what  various  young 
women — he  need  not  say  that  Mandy  knew  what  particular 
young  woman  he  intended  by  the  question,  and  the  ques 
tion  was  what  they,  or,  as  the  case  might  be,  what  she, 
would  do  when  widowers  had  concluded  to  wait  no  longer, 
and  then  another  woman  might  come  in,  and,  to  make  the 
matter  short,  ask  them  that  had  been  keeping  house  for 
their  brothers  for  the  smoke-house  keys. 

"  If  you  mean  me,  Mr.  Gillam,"  answered  Mandy,  simply, 
"  I  should  give  them  up  at  once,  of  course." 

"Then  what?" 

"  Wait  for  what  Providence  sends  to  me." 

"An'  supposin' —  You  b'lieve  weddin's  is  made  in 
heb'n,  Mandy  ?" 

"  I've  not  a  doubt  about  that,  Mr.  Gillam." 

"  Well,  then,  is  your  mind  predijiced  fer  an'  to- wards — 
ahem  ! — I  may  say  any  man-person  in  any — so  to  speak — 
wocations  o'  life?" 

The  very  voice  of  Mr.  Gillam,  let  alone  his  words,  was 
artful. 

"I  couldn't  say,  Mr.  Gillam  —  now,"  answered  Mandy, 
calmly  as  before,  and  unblushing.  "  As  to  that,"  she  con 
tinued,  after  a  pause,  "  of  course  a  woman  would  have  to 
think,  and  think  a  long  time,  before  making  up  her  mind." 

"  Too  cool,  too  cool  to  try  to  push,  yet  awhile,"  thought 


202 


THE    RIVALRIES    OF    MR.  TOBY    GILLAM. 


Mr.  Gillam.     "  Harm  Griggs  got  to  help  in  this  case ;  ef  he 
don't—" 

He  rose,  and  in  a  distant  way  said  that  he  might  make 
another  call  there  in  a  few  days. 


YOU  B'LIEVE  WEDDIN'S  is  MADE  IN  HEB'N,  MANDY  ?' " 


After  supper  that  night,  Mr.  Gillam,  having  sent  out  of 
the  room  Susan,  as  being  too  young  to  understand  and  ap 
preciate  the  circumstances,  had  a  talk  with  Jane. 

"  Law,  pa,"  said  Jane,  sadly  and  reproachfully,  yet  smil- 


THE    RIVALRIES    OF    MR.  TOBY    GILLAM.  203 

ing  somewhat,  "  when  you  was  primping  so,  I  thought  all 
the  time  it  was  for  Mrs.  Rainwater,  and  lo  and  behold  it's 
Mandy  I"  Then  Jane  laughed  out. 

"Don't  see  anything  to  laugh  about,"  said  her  father, 
looking  alternately  at  her  and  the  finely  dressed  image  he 
saw  in  the  mirror  that  hung  on  the  wall. 

"  Pa,  the  i-dea  !  Mandy's  young  enough  for  your  own 
daughter." 

"  And  ain't  you  young  enough  for  Harm  Griggs's  daugh 
ter?" 

"Not  quite.  But  I  don't  see  what  that  has  to  do  with 
you  and  Mandy." 

"  Well,  I'll  show  Harm  Griggs  what  it's  got  to  do  with 
me  an'  her.  He  comin'  here  hangin'  round  you,  an'  kickin' 
up  his  heels  like  a  year! in'  boy,  an'  me  have  to  set  in  the 
chimbly-cornder  an' —  Harm  Griggs  will  find  out  which 
side  his  bread's  buttered." 

"  Pa,  I  don't  know  what  all  you're  talking  about." 

"  You  set  thar  an'  tell  me  Harm  Griggs  ain't  arfter  yon, 
an'  a-gainin'  on  you  rapid  ?" 

Jane  hesitated  before  answering.  She  thought  that  it 
might  not  be  best  for  her  to  be  outspoken  regarding  her 
relations  to  the  Griggses,  but  she  felt  it  her  duty  to  warn 
him  against  attempting  to  win  Mandy,  and  she  did  so. 
Then  she  said,  "  Pa,  Mr.  Griggs  never  courted  me,  and  I've 
not  the  slightest  idea —  Law,  pa,"  she  added,  almost  petu 
lantly,  "  can't  you  see  that  Mr.  Griggs,  if  he's  courting  any 
body,  it's  Mrs.  Rainwater  he's  a-courting?  and  which  a  body 
would  suppose  would  be  a  heap  more  suitable  than  to  be 
courting  such  as  me." 

But  Jane  Gillam  did  not  look  as  if  she  was  telling  the 
whole  truth  about  matters  that  she  saw  were  beginning  to 
grow  complicated.  Her  father,  mobile  as  he  was,  and  know- 


204  THE    RIVALRIES    OF    MR.  TOBY    GILLAM. 

ing  how  candid  she  had  been  always,  did  not  suspect  her, 
and  in  spite  of  his  exalted  estimate  of  his  own  value  he 
became  convinced  that  further  pursuit  of  Mandy  would  be 
useless. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  ef  it  don't  beat  the  everlastin'  crea 
tions  of  a  ontimely  an'  gainsayin'  world.  Never  you  mind, 
Harm  Griggs !  That  widder — why,  didn't  she  tell  me  with 
her  own  mouth  that  Harm  Griggs  were  arfter  you?  My 
bloods  and  thunders  !  Somebody  better  stand  from  under, 
for  if  they  don't  mind,  something  an'  somethin'  that's  heavy, 
is  a-gwine  to  drap." 

Then  he  went  off  to  bed,  but  not  to  rest  for  a  long  time. 
The  jealousy  that  he  had  felt  from  the  first  coming  of  Har 
mon  Griggs  into  the  neighborhood  again  seized  upon  his  mind 
and  racked  it.  If  the  whole  truth  could  be  known,  it  is 
probable  that  his  first  hostility  to  the  thought  of  Harmon's 
marriage  with  Jane,  and  afterwards  his  notion  towards  Mandy, 
were  prompted  in  some  degree  by  the  pain  he  felt  in  con 
templating  the  case  of  Harmon  having  a  younger  wife  than 
he  had.  He  was  obliged  to  know  that  a  match  between 
Harmon  and  Jane  would  not  have  been  far  disproportionate, 
and  it  stung  him  deeply  now  to  feel  how  he  had  miscalcu 
lated  in  that  behalf.  Then  to  think  of  Mrs.  Rainwater, 
who  had  only  lately  been  so  prim  and  dressy,  so  cheery  and 
nice  and  wholesome — to  think  of  her  and  that  plantation, 
with  all  that  white-oak  timber  and  bottom-land,  falling  to 
Harmon  Griggs,  and  him  and  his  children  left  out  in  the 
cold;  nay,  in  all  human  probability,  that  same  Harmon 
Griggs  proving  to  have  lied  about  his  intentions  of  quitting 
the  making  of  coffins,  and  resuming  that  business  with  the 
enhanced  reputation  gained  from  the  work  he  was  allowed 
to  do  in  the  case  of  his,  Toby  Gillam's,  own  wife.  "  Oh, 
my  goodness  of  gracious !  laws  of  mercies !"  Mr.  Gillam 


THE    RIVALRIES    OF    MR.   TOBY    GILLAM.  205 

Lad  to  exclaim  many  times  during  that  night,  both  when 
awake  and  when  he  slept.  The  next  morning  he  had  no 
sooner  gotten  his  breakfast  than  he  was  on  his  horse  pacing 
over  to  Mrs.  Rainwater's. 

IV. 

Her  father  had  been  gone  but  a  short  time,  when  Jane, 
taking  a  horse  from  one  of  the  hands  who  was  ploughing 
in  a  field  near  the  house,  and  sending  him  to  the  hoe,  rode 
down  the  road  to  Mr.  Griggs's.  She  had  advanced  but  a 
brief  distance  on  her  way  when  she  met  Mr.  Griggs,  going, 
as  he  said,  to  the  saw-mill.  After  some  conversation,  more 
or  less  confidential,  they  parted.  Checking  her  horse  a  mo 
ment  thereafter,  she  called  to  him,  and  said,  "  Mr.  Griggs, 
if  it  won't  be  too  much  trouble,  I  wish  you'd  ride  up  to  the 
house  and  tell  Susan  that  the  smoke-house  key  is  behind 
the  glass  drawer  on  rny  bureau.  I  forgot  to  tell  the  child 
about  it  when  I  left." 

"  Cert'nly,  Jane,  cert'nly." 

Even  if  Mr.  Griggs  had  had  no  motive  in  obliging  Jane 
Gillam,he  was  naturally  as  accommodating  a  man,  I  suppose, 
as  you  ever  saw.  When  he  had  reached  the  gate,  he  went 
so  far  as  to  dismount,  go  into  the  piazza,  and  seeing  that 
Susan  looked  rather  lonesome  there  by  herself,  not  doubting 
that  she,  too,  was  somewhat  disturbed  by  her  father's  con 
duct,  took  a  seat  and  chatted  as  cheeringly  as  he  knew  how 
for  probably  an  hour;  then  went  on  about  his  business. 

"  Oh,  Mandy,  I'm  in  such  a  flurry  about  pa  !" 

In  the  midst  of  a  talk  between  the  girls,  in  which  Mandy 
tried  to  console  Jane  for  her  anxiety,  Morgan  came  in,  and 
he  lent  what  service  he  could  render  to  this  kind  intent. 
But  Mandy  and  Morgan,  after  Jane  had  left,  admitted  that 
Mr.  Gillam,  in  the  present  condition  of  his  mind,  was  apt  to 


206  THE    RIVALRIES    OF    MR.   TOBY    GILLAM. 

give  trouble  aJl  around,  and  they  felt  some  anxiety,  which  in 
Jane's  presence  they  had  tried  not  to  seem  to  indulge.  The 
fact  is,  there  is  never  any  telling  how  many  people  may  be 
made  anxious  by  the  wayward  conduct  of  such  a  man  as 
Toby  Gillam,  especially  when  lately  made  a  widower. 

"  You  think,"  said  Mr.  Griggs,  when  he  had  returned 
home,  "that  as  I  rid  by  Mr.  Gillam's  a-comin'  back  home, 
an'  howdyed  to  him  as  he  sot  in  his  peazer,  he  never 
peached  a  single  word,  ner  never  not  even  nodded  his 
head?" 

Yet  in  this  and  further  speech  about  the  slight  he  was 
very  calm,  and  he  cautioned  his  family  to  be  prudent  in 
what  they  did  and  said  about  Mr.  Gillam,  who,  he  hoped, 
would  come  around  right  in  good  time. 

Matters  were  bound  to  become  more  complicated  and 
productive  of  anxiety,  considering  what  kind  of  reception 
Mr.  Gillam  had  in  his  morning's  visit.  There  happened  to 
be  at  Mrs.  Rainwater's  her  cousin,  Miss  Cynthy  Spears,  who, 
a  few  days  before,  had  come  for  a  visit  of  indefinite  dura 
tion.  Plain,  slender  both  in  figure  and  pecuniary  or  other 
worldly  property,  and  we'll  say  from  thirty  to  thirty-seven, 
Mrs.  Rainwater  thought  much  of  her  for  the  many  excellent 
traits  she  possessed,  and  had  sent  for  her,  away  down  on 
Buffalo  Creek,  to  come  and  stay  with  her  as  long  as  she  felt 
like  it.  Mandy,  Jane,  and  Susan  had  called  upon  her,  of 
course,  and  all  said  that  in  their  opinion  Miss  Spears  was  a 
good,  fine  woman.  I  will  let  Mr.  Gillam  tell  a  few  incidents 
of  his  call.  He  addressed  himself  specially  to  his  youngest. 

"  Susan,  the  fact  o'  the  business  is,  I  want  you  to  tell  Ben 
Rainwater  that  my  wishes  is  he  shall  keep  his  k'yarcass  away 
from  this  house." 

All  that  Susan,  stupefied  as  she  was  with  astonishment, 
could  say,  was,  "  What  in  the  world  for,  pa?" 


THE    RIVALRIES    OF    MR.   TOBY    GILLAM.  207 

"Because  I  'tends  to  show  them  Griggses  an1  Rainwa 
ters  that  I'm  not  the  man  I'm  tuck  fer,  to  be  runned  over 
an'  trompled  on  like  I  had  no  feelins,  no  more — no  more'n 
a  stump." 

"  Pa,"  said  Susan,  when  she  could  recover  her  mind, 
"  somebody  has  gone  and  hurt  your  feelings,  and  I'm  just 
as  certain  of  it  as  if  I'd  been  there  and  heard  'em ;  but  I  do 
hope  in  my  heart  that  it  wasn't  poor  Benny." 

"  Poor  Benny  !  No,  indeed  !  He'd  know  better  what 
were  good  for  him.  But  you  hit  the  nail  on  the  head.  I 
don't  know  as  you  an'  Jane  know  whar  I've  ben.  But  I 
ben  to  Missis  Rainwater's,  whar  I  'lowed  to  have  a  little 
talk — a  civil  talk — along  'ith  her  about  one  thing  an'  anoth 
er.  An'  you  think  she  didn't  set  thar  an'  run  up  Harm 
Griggs  to  the  very  sky  o'  heb'n,  to  that  ole  maid  cousin  o' 
hern,  an'  prove  by  me,  dad  fetch  it,  every  blessed  word  she 
said?  an'  with  all  the  lookin'  an*  coughin'  at  ole  Miss  Speer- 
ies,  or  vvhatsomever  her  name  is,  I  couldn't  git  her  out  o' 
the  room?  an'  Missis  Rainwater  had  no  more  politeness 
than  to  not  let  her  go,  as  that  ole  thing  wunst,  when  I 
starr'd  at  her  pine  blang,  riz  an'  look  like  she  wanted  to  git 
away  ?  an'  mebbe  tired  o'  hearin'  a  man  so  hilt  up,  an'  kep' 
up,  an'  proved  to  be  up,  by  gracious,  by  another  man  that's 
his  innimy  ?" 

His  face,  naturally  reddish,  was  now  near  the  color  of 
blood. 

"  Pa,"  said  Susan,  as  mildly  as  she  could,  "  I  thought  you 
had  come  to  like  Mr.  Griggs  after  he  got  you  to  make  little 
Betsy's  coffin,  and  insisted  on  paying  you  more  for  it  than 
you  charged,  and  then  after  making  that  for  poor  ma  and 
not  let  you  pay  one  single  cent." 

"  An'  so  I  did — so  I  did — tell  I  found  what  a  desatef ul 
creeter  he  were,  a  pertendin'  to  want  Jane,  when,  lo  an'  be- 
14 


208  THE    RIVALRIES    OF    ME.    TOBY    GILLAM. 

hol',  he's  ben  a-pessecatin'  o'  the  widder  Rainwater;  an' 
when  he  git  her  an'  that  plantation  an'  niggers,  what  chances 
have  Ben  Rainwater  to  s'pote  anybody  that'll  take  up  'long 
o'  him  ?  an  I  want  nothin'  to  do  'ith  none  o'  'em,  an'  I  want 
his  k'yarcass  kep'  away  from  here." 

"Oh,  pa!  pa!  to  think  of  your  calling  as  fine  a  young 
man  as  Benny  Rainwater  a — a  carcass!"  Susan  couldn't 
stand  that.  So  she  put  her  apron  to  her  eyes.  As  for 
Jane,  she  had  left  already.  "  Very  well,  pa,"  said  Susan, 
her  apron  still  doing  its  needed  service,  "  I'll  have  nothing 
to  do  with  Benny.  I  have  .to  do  as  you  say  ;  but  such 
talk,  and  such — it's  right  hard,  and  'special'  on  them  that's 
done  no  harm  in  this  blessed  world." 

Mr.  Gillam  had  always  been  more  tender  with  Susan  than 
with  Jane.  He  looked  after  her  as  she  retired,  and  his 
heart  might  have  softened  somewhat  but  for  his  feeling 
what  great,  solemn  duties  he  had  to  perform,  both  as  a  par 
ent  and  as  a  man. 

"  Pa,"  asked  Jane,  who  had  returned  to  the  room  merely 
to  put  a  single  respectful  question,  "  as  you've  forbid  the 
house  to  Ben  Rainwater,  and  as  Mr.  Griggs,  if  he  has  any 
self-respect,  is  not  apt  to  come  here  again,  I  want  to  ask  if 
you  have  any  objection  to  Mandy  and  Morgan  coming  if 
they  should  ever  feel  like  it." 

"  I  got  nothin'  to  do  with  Mandy  an'  Morgan  Griggs — 
nothin'  fer  ner  agin  'em.  I  don't  bother  myself  'bout 
whether  they  come  er  don't  come." 

"That's  all  I  want  to  know,"  she  said,  with  abject  meek 
ness;  then  again  retired. 

But  for  an  occasional  job  in  that  line  of  which  he  was 
most  proudly  fond,  there  is  no  telling  to  what  extent  Mr. 
Gillam  might  have  incommoded  and  perplexed  those  whose 
peace  was  dependent  upon  his  conduct.  As  it  was,  while 


THE    RIVALRIES    OF    MR.   TOBY    GILLAM.  2Q9 

engaged  in  making  a  coffin,  his  mind,  though  not  exhibiting 
that  full  resignation  that  used  to  be  remarked  on  such  oc 
casions,  yet  kept  within  some  sort  of  bounds  his  jealous  re 
sentments.  If  Mr.  Griggs  had  broken  his  word  and  under 
taken  such  a  piece  of  work  in  that  while,  ray  patience!  But 
Harmon  Griggs — 

However,.  I  must  return  to  Mr.  Gillam.  Now  it  came  to 
pass  that  Miss  Spears,  having  witnessed  some  and  having 
heard  other  of  the  state  into  which  Mr.  Gillam  had  been  put 
by  the  treatment  that  he  had  received  at  Mrs.  Rainwater's 
— Miss  Spears,  good  woman,  peace-loving  woman  that  she 
was,  felt  it  to  be  her  duty  to  do  what  she  could  to  make 
matters  at  least  a  little  better.  The  forbidding  as  fine  a 
youth  as  Ben  Rainwater  to  visit  the  house,  the  refusal  on 
his  own  piazza  to  return  the  salutation  of  as  respectable  a 
man  as  Harmon  Griggs,  the  leaving  Mrs.  Rainwater's  house 
in  what  that  lady  described  as  plain  and  perfect  a  huff  as 
anybody  would  ever  wish  to  see — all  this  and  more  that 
had  come  within  the  knowledge  of  Miss  Spears  led  her  to 
determine  to  do  whatever  was  possible  in  the  circumstances 
to  a  mere  stranger,  who,  though  a  stranger,  had  come  to  like 
both  families,  and  to  honestly  wish  for  hearty  reconciliation 
all  around.  Then  she  knew  the  Rainwaters  and  the  Griggses 
all  well  enough  to  feel  confident  that  they  were  not  people 
to  submit  without  some  struggle  to  be  warred  against  by 
even  as  passionate,  determined  a  man  as  Mr.  Toby  Gillam. 

With  peace -making  intent,  therefore,  Miss  Spears  rode 
over  to  the  Gillams',  and  in  the  course  of  what  conversation 
she  had  with  the  head  of  the  family  alone,  she  said  that  her 
cousin  Sally  had  partially  admitted  to  her  that  the  extraor 
dinary  praise  of  Mr.  Griggs  on  that  fatal  day  \vas  due  to  a 
little  innocent  desire  on  her  part  to  tease.  Mr.  Gillam  said 
that  he  could  not  see  how  that  mended  matters,  and  Miss 


210  THE    RIVALRIES    OF    MR.   TOBY    GILLAM. 

Spears,  to  be  perfectly  honest,  had  to  admit  that  she  coin 
cided  in  this  view — I  should  perhaps  say,  rather,  this  absence 
of  view. 

"But  Cousin  Sally  always  were  a  joky  person,  you  know, 
Mr.  Gillam  ;  and  as  for  me,  I  jest  up  and  down,  I  did,  an'  I 
told  Cousin  Sally  that  /  couldn't  see  wherein  Mr.  Griggs 
were  seek  a  mighty,  powerful,  tremenjuous  man,  at  leastways 
as  fur  as  I  seen  of  him  yit ;  an'  as  for  him  and  Cousin  Sally, 
I  couldn't  say  if  Mr.  Griggs  want  Cousin  Sally ;  but  I  has 
rny  opinions  about  Cousin  Sally's  never  of  marryin'  of  no 
body,  exceptin'  it's  'ith  Benny's  consents;  an'  I  do  know  that 
when  ole  Missis  Pate  were  a-jokin'  of  Cousin  Sally  not  long 
ago  about  Mr.  Griggs,  Benny  he  got  rnad,  an'  he  got  up  an' 
left  the  house,  an'  he  never  come  back  twell  Misses  Pate  were 


"  You  think,"  asked  Mr.  Gillarn,  "  that  Ben  would  jes'  nat- 
chel  be  agin  his  ma's  a-marryin'  o'  anybody — any  man-per 
son,  I  mean,  in  co'se  ?" 

"  Well,  now,  Mr.  Gillam,  when  you  talkin'  about  step 
fathers  an'  the  havin1  o'  step-fathers,  you  know  in  genii  how 
yearlin'  boys  is" 

What  further  might  have  been  said  on  this  delicate  sub 
ject  between  the  two  can  only  be  imagined.  But  at  that 
moment  Jane  came  out  into  the  piazza  where  they  were  sit 
ting,  and  almost  immediately  afterwards  Miss  Spears  said 
that  she  must  be  going  back  home.  Mr.  Gillam  knew  very 
well,  of  course,  that  he  could  easily  enough  cough  Jane 
away ;  but  just  as  he  was  clearing  his  throat  for  that  pur 
pose  the  guest  gave  him  a  look,  went  into  the  house,  got  her 
bonnet,  came  out  again,  mounted  her  horse,  and  home  she 
went.  She  was  so  positive  in  her  seriousness  and  silence 
that  even  when  Mr.  Gillam  was  parting  from  her  at  the 
horse-block  they  could  only  say  a  good-evening  apiece. 


THE    RIVALRIES    OF    MR.   TOBY    GILLAM.  211 

That  night  in  the  family  circle  Mr.  Gillam  exhibited  no 
moroseness  whatever,  and,  to  the  surprise  of  his  daughters, 
while  unusually  thoughtful,  seemed  rather  cheerful  in  his 
thoughtful  ness. 

"  I  do  believe,"  he  said  once,  in  a  rather  absent-minded 
way,  "that  Ben  Rainwater's  a  sensibler  feller'n  I  thought  he 
was." 

"  I'm  so  glad,  pa — "  began  Susan. 

"  Come  now,  come  now,  Susan  ;  wait  an'  see." 

When  all  had  retired,  that  busy,  scheming  intellect  re 
volved  other  possibilities  in  barter  and  exchange. 

"  Mr.  Gillam  are  a  great  politicianer,"  the  simple-minded 
Harmon  Griggs  used  to  say. 


T. 

Ben  Rainwater  was  thought  to  be  in  a  very  embarrass 
ing  situation  for  as  young  a  man  as  he  was.  There  was 
his  mother,  a  widow,  and  there  were  Mr.  Gillam  and  Mr. 
Griggs,  both  widowers,  and  there  were  Susan  Gillam  his 
love,  and  Morgan  Griggs  his  friend,  and  there  was  himself, 
in  his  heart  opposed  to  his  mother's  marrying  anybody  at 
all.  So  what  was  Ben  to  do  ?  Many  people  said  they  were 
sorry  for  Ben  Rainwater,  they  were;  and  for  their  lives 
they  couldn't  see  how  he  was  to  paddle  his  canoe  just  all 
alone  by  himself.  But  Ben  kept  himself  collected,  cool,  and 
calm.  He  may  have  advised  with  the  Griggses,  especially 
Mandy,  knowing,  in  spite  of  his  nonage,  that  the  female  mind 
is  more  prompt  with  sympathy  and  sagacious  in  devices  for 
such  emergencies  than  the  male.  In  all  probability  he  also 
consulted  his  cousin  Cynthy  Spears,  whom  the  Gil  lams  and 
Griggses  both  knew  that  he  thought  a  great  deal  of.  Once, 
while  at  the  Gillams'  (for  now  since  Mr.  Gillam's  partial  letting 


212  THE    RIVALRIES    OF    MR.   TOBY    GILLAM. 

down,  lie,  accompanied  by  Morgan  generally,  went  there  right 
often),  he  said,  in  a  somewhat  distant  manner,  that  if  his 
cousin  Cynthy  had  property,  there  was  no  telling  what  she 
might  not  be  able  to  do  with  herself.  For  she  was  one  of 
the  best  house-keepers,  and  one  of  the  finest  women  anyway, 
that  he  ever  saw  in  all  his  born  days,  and,  in  fact,  nobody 
but  him  knew  what  a  comfort  and  a  consolation  she  was  to 
his  mother,  especially  here  lately  when  the  latter  was  afraid 
that  she  might  be  taking  the  heart-disease. 

"  What,  Ben  !"  exclaimed  every  one  of  the  Gillam  family, 
simultaneously. 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  Ben,  smiling  sadly,  "  I  can  but  hope  it's 
not  so.  Ma's  a  little  afraid  she's  gitting  that  or  somethin'. 
Of  course  Cousin  Cynthy  an'  rne  try  to  laugh  her  out  o'  the 
notion.  But  the  difficulty  is  that  when  Cousin  Cynthy's 
aunt,  the  old  lady  Pounds,  dies — she's  Cousin  Cynthy's  aunt 
on  the  tother  side  of  the  family — when  she  dies,  and  leaves 
Cousin  Cynthy  the  prop'ty  that  everybody  says  she's  actilly 
got  in  her  will  noiv,  an'  then  Cousin  Cynthy  git  married  an' 
go  .away  from  our  house,  the  thing  is  to  tell  what  ma'll  do 
in  such  a  case.  For  she  ben  countin'  on  Cousin  Cynthy  ta- 
kin'  up  her  home  along  'ith  her." 

It  is  probable  that  during  his  whole  career  Mr.  Gillam 
never  drew  a  longer  breath  than  at  these  words.  The  mus 
cles  of  his  face  worked  with  irregular  violence,  and  his  eyes 
grew  watery  with  their  heat.  He  stared  at  Ben  hard  for 
several  minutes,  then  rose  and  abruptly  left  the  room.  Both 
Jane  and  Susan  scolded  Ben,  though  not  harshly. 

"Never  you  mind,"  said  Ben,  "  you  wait  and  see.  News 
come  to  Cousin  Cynthy  only  yisterday  that  her  aunt  was 
quite  cornplainy." 

,  If  you  will  believe  me,  in  less  than  a  week  from  that  very 
day,  Miss  Spears  was  sent  for,  and  shortly  afterwards  a  report 


THE    RIVALRIES    OF    MR.   TOBY    GILLAM.  213 

came  up  from  Buffalo  that  her  aged  relative  had  deceased, 
and  by  her  last  will  and  testament  were  bequeathed  to  Miss 
Spears,  styled  by  the  testatrix  her  well -beloved  niece,  two 
negro  girls,  an  indefinite  number  of  horses,  cattle,  and  swine, 
and  three  hundred  dollars  in  specie  money. 

"  There  it  is,  you  see  now,"  said  Ben  to  the  Gillams : 
"what  ma's  to  do  now  with  the  heart-disease  /can't  see." 

But  Ben  always  declared  that  it  was  not  himself,  and  he 
didn't  know  who  it  was  for  certain,  that  first  started  the  re 
port  that  Harmon  Griggs,  foreseeing  the  present  state  of 
things,  had  been  having  his  eye  on  Miss  Spears  ever  since 
she  had  been  sojourning  at  Mrs.  Rainwater's,  and  especially 
since  the  latter  had  been  threatened  by  the  heart-disease 
or  some  kindred  malady,  and  that  he  had  been  waiting  for 
the  demise  of  Mrs.  Pounds  before  proposing  to  appropriate 
to  himself  Miss  Spears,  together  with  her  expected  legacy, 
when  every  probability  was  that  with  the  advantage  of  the 
hard  cash  that  was  known  to  be  a  part  of  it,  he  would  en 
large  his  workshop  r.nd  resume  the  coffin-making  business 
upon  a  scale  to  which  his  former  operations  in  that  line  were 
not  to  be  compared.  The  morning  after  getting  this  intelli 
gence  Mr.  Gillam  said  to  his  daughters  at  the  breakfast-table, 
*'  Girls,  I  nuver  slept  not  one  single,  blessed,  everlastin'  wink, 
not  in  the  whole  deternal  night,  last  night.  I'm  a-goin' 
down  to  Buff'ler  Creek  neighborhood  on  a — on  a  little  busi 
ness,  an'  I  mayn't  be  back  in  a  couple  or  three  days.  Take 
keer  o'  things  best  you  ken,  an'  don't  be  oneasy  about  .me." 

Brave  man  as  he  was,  he  had  not  the  face  to  look  at  those 
motherless  girls.  They  parted  from  him  with  as  much  re 
spect  and  as  few  words  as  possible,  and  turned  back  to  their 
thoughts  and  their  business. 

During  all  this  tumultuous  behavior  Harmon  Griggs  rd- 
mained  calm  until  now.  Whenever  the  two  met,  as  they 


214  THE    RIVALRIES    OF    MR.   TOBY    GILLAM. 

must,  residing  so  near  to  each  other,  and  to  one  objective 
point  interesting  to  both,  the  younger  man  spoke  just  as 
usual,  whatever  might  be  the  salutation,  if  any,  that  he  re 
ceived.  Whenever  the  Gillam  girls  came  to  his  house  he 
inquired  kindly  after  their  father.  But  Harmon  Griggs  was 
now  to  show  to  Mr.  Gillam  and  the  rest  of  the  world  that  he 
was  not  altogether  the  sort  of  man  that  he  had  been  taken  for. 

When  Jane,  shortly  after  her  father's  departure,  came  all 
fluttering  and  flustered  with  the  news,  he  smiled  as  men  are 
wont  when  conscious  of  knowing  what  they  are  about,  and 
sitting  down  for  a  while,  rendered  to  the  poor  girl  what  con 
solation  and  counsel  he  could  think  of.  Morgan  happening 
to  come  in  from  the  field,  he  also  and  Mandy  cordially  joined 
in  all  Harmon  said.  Accepting  the  corfsolation,  she  hesitated 
about  the  counsel. 

"Oh,  Susan,  Susan,  Mr.  Griggs  !"  she  said,  almost  wringing 
her  hands  ;  "  what  will  become  of  poor  Susan  ?" 

Right  there  it  was  where  Harmon  Griggs  showed  the 
genuineness  of  his  excellent  character. 

"Jane,"  he  said,  in  mild  solemnity,  "you  foller  my  ad- 
wices  an'  do  what  I  tell  you.  We'll  all  take  keer  o'  Susan, 
with  Godamighty  to  help  us.  Don't  you  be  oneasy  about 
Susan.  I've  not  a  doubt  she'd  say  you're  doin'  of  right." 

Jane  at  length  felt  that  she  ought  to  yield,  and  when  she 
did,  she  said  she  felt  a  great  deal  better. 

Then  Harmon  rose,  retired  to  his  chamber,  dressed  him 
self  in  a  suit  entirely  new,  came  forth  again,  mounted  his 
horse,  and  rode  away. 

VI. 

A  journey  of  twenty-five  miles  was  something  in  that  day 
for  an  industrious,  home-staying  man  like  Mr.  Gillam  ;  but 
he  was  one  that  was  in  the  habit  of  going  wherever  he  had 


THE    RIVALRIES    OF    MR.   TOBY    GILLAM.  215 

business.  Halting  at  the  office  of  the  clerk  of  the  Court  of 
Ordinary  at  the  county-seat,  he  inquired  of  that  officer  if  the 
will  of  the  late  Mrs.  Jincy  Pounds  had  been  offered  for  pro 
bate. 

"  Why,  law,  Toby,"  answered  the  official,  "  the  old  lady 
Pounds  didn't  live  in  this  county.  She  lived  jes'  on  the 
aidge,  but  t'other  side  o'  Buff  lo." 

"My!  my  !  my!"  He  rose  immediately,  and  as  he  re 
mounted  his  horse,  cast  his  eye  up  the  road  by  which  he  had 
come,  in  order  to  see  if  any  pursuer  was  gaining  on  him. 
Then  spurring,  he  proceeded  briskly  on  his  way  south.  He 
tarried  for  the  night  near  the  Buffalo  Bridge,  at  the  house 
of  a  farmer  with  whom  he  had  some  little  acquaintance. 
There  he  learned  that  Miss  Spears  was  sojourning  for  the 
present  with  a  cousin  near  by  who  had  been  named  execu 
tor  of  the  will.  Fortunately  Mr.  Gillam's  host  was  one  of 
the  witnesses  to  that  instrument,  and  he  confirmed  the  report 
about  the  legacy,  except  that  instead  of  two  negro  girls, 
three  hundred  dollars,  and  the  other  items,  it  should  have 
been  one  negro  girl,  one  hundred  dollars,  one  mare  and  colt, 
two  cows  and  calves,  three  sows  and  pigs,  and  her  gig. 

The  legacy  thus  diminished  subtracted  at  first  somewhat 
from  Mr.  Gillam's  ardor.  But  when  he  reflected  on  all  that 
Harmon  Griggs  could  do  with  that  cash,  and  what  a  glory 
it  would  be  if  he  could  thwart  the  design  of  one  who  for  so 
long  had  been  an  enemy  to  his  peace,  all  his  eagerness  re 
turned.  Thankful  in  his  heart  as  he  was  that  his  rival  was 
a  man  of  habitually  slow  motion,  yet  he  felt  the  need  of 
continued,  prompt,  energetic  action,  and  so,  immediately 
after  breakfast  next  morning,  he  sallied  forth,  crossed  the 
bridge,  and  repaired  to  the  mansion  of  the  cousin  and  execu 
tor. 

Miss  Spears,  after  a  weak  scream,  declared,  upon  the  honor 


216  THE    RIVALRIES    OF    MR.    TOBY    GILLAM. 

of  a  lady,  that  if  ever  a  lady  ivas  surprised,  that  present  lady 
was  surprised  at  this  visit  of  Mr.  Gillam.  But  that  man 
could  see  as  plainly  as  the  nose  on  her  face,  in  spite  of  the 
regrets  she  must  naturally  feel  for  the  recent  departure  of 
an  aunt  so  dear,  that  she  was  gratified  by  an  action  at  once 
so  bold  and  so  delicate. 

"Mister  Gillam,  I  always  Jcnewed,  an'  I  told  'em  I  knewed, 
you  had  a  heart,  an'  now  I  do  know  it,  an'  not  a  doubt." 

To  an  inquiry  of  the  visitor  whether  she  expected  any- 
other  man-person  from  her  cousin  Sally  Rainwater's  neigh 
borhood  to  come  down  there  shortly,  Miss  Spears  vowed, 
and  properly,  I  always  thought,  that  she  would  not  answer 
that  question. 

It  is  perhaps  needless  to  say  that  such  eager  devotion  and 
pursuit  from  such  a  man  as  Miss  Spears  had  always  known 
and  always  told  them  that  she  knew  him  to  be,  must  prevail. 
But  then,  oh,  what  if  his  daughters  should  be  opposed  to 
having  a  step -mother  brought  there  and  put  over  them ! 
She  shuddered  to  think  what  they  would  say  and  would  do 
when  he  went  back  home  and  told  them  he  was  engaged  to 
Cynthy  Spears. 

"  I'm  not  a-gwine  thar  'ithout  her,"  answered  the  auda 
cious  lover. 

"  Why  !  Mister  Gillam  !" 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  third  day  afterwards,  at  the  point 
in  the  road  leading  northward  where,  about  three  hundred 
yards  south  of  the  residence  of  Mr.  Harmon  Griggs,  the  said 
road  made  a  turn  which  was  to  continue  for  some  distance 
beyond,  three  travellers  might  have  been  seen  who  were  tak 
ing  a  brief  rest.  In  a  gig  sat  a  gentleman  and  lady,  who,  in 
spite  of  the  toil  of  travel,  seemed  to  be  in  cheerful  mood.  I 
On  a  stout  mare  rode  a  negro  girl,  apparently  some  thirteen 
years  of  age,  whose  face  and  form,  though  evidently  fatigued, 


THE    RIVALRIES    OF    MR.    TOBY    GILLAM.  217 

indicated  patient  endurance.  The  party  bad  halted,  it  seemed, 
for  the  purpose  of  allowing  the  inare  to  rest  and  extend  nour 
ishment  to  her  colt  preparatory  to  a  brisk  course  over  the 
nice  level  stretch  before  them, 

"Ride  on,  Lindy,"  said  the  gentleman  to  the  girl ;  "trot 
up  peert ;  we'll  soon  be  thar  now." 

They  moved  again.  The  6olt,  strengthened  and  cheered 
by  this  last  meal,  dashed  ahead,  and  in  answer  to  the  whick 
ers  from  Mr.  Harmon  Griggs's  horse-lot,  gave  one  whicker 
himself,  kicked  up  his  heels  contemptuously,  then  rushed  on 
more  recklessly  than  before. 

It  cannot  be  denied  that  as  Mr.  Gillam  drew  near  home, 
however  conscious  of  his  greatness  and  triumphant  felicity, 
he  rather  dreaded  the  meeting  of  those  daughters,  who,  he 
believed  that  he  had  reason 'to  apprehend,  would  not  at  first 
appreciate  his  effort  to  fill  the  place  of  the  mother  who  had 
departed.  He  had  tried  to  prepare  them  against  sudden 
breaking  forth  into  lamentations  on  his  arrival  by  sending 
word,  two  days  before,  of  the  time  and  conditions  of  his  re 
turn,  with  the  request  that  they  would  have  the  house  and 
every  thing  else  set  to  rights  in  the  mean  while.  And  to  save 
his  life  he  could  not  but  feel  some  embarrassment  when  the 
house  of  his  rival  came  within  view.  Clucking  to  the  gig 
horse,  he  passed  by  it  as  rapidly  as  possible.  He  was  sur 
prised,  however,  to  find  the  door  closed,  and  not  one  of  the 
white  family  visible. 

"  Why,  hi !"  he  exclaimed,  "  what  come  of  'em  all  ?  Look 
like  the  whole  tribe  of  'em  goned  arid  flevved  away." 

A  greater  surprise  awaited  him  at  his  own  gate.  In  his 
piazza  were  not  only  Jane  and  Susan,  but  Harmon  Griggs, 
and  Morgan  Griggs,  and  Mandy  Griggs,  and  Mrs.  Rainwater, 
and  Ben  Rainwater.  In  the  yard  every  negro  on  the  place 
was  standing  or  held  in  somebody's  arms.  Not  only  so, 


218  THE    RIVALRIES    OF    MR.   TOBY    GILLAM. 

but  every  blessed  one  among  them,  white  and  black,  male 
and  female,  old  and  young  and  middle-aged,  had  on 
the  very  best  things  that  to  their  names  they  possessed. 
Yet  the  sounds  that  greeted  Mr.  Gillarn  astonished  him 
still  more  than  the  sight  of  this  most  unexpected  assem 
blage. 

"Howdy, pa?  howdy,  ma?"  cried  Jane. 

"Howdy,  ma?  howdy,  pa?"  cried  Susan. 

"  Howdy,  pa  ?  howdy,  ma  ?"  cried  Morgan. 

"  Howdy,  ma  ?  howdy,  pa  ?"  cried  Harmon. 

"Howdy,  Cousin  Cynthy?  howdy,  Cousin  Tobe?"  cried 
simultaneously  Mrs.  Rainwater  and  Ben. 

"  Howdy,  Cousin  Toby  ?  howdy,  Cousin  Cynthy  ?"  cried 
Mandy. 

"Howdy,  marster?  howdy,  mist'ess  ?"  bawled  every  negro 
time  and  time  again. 

It  was  perhaps  well  for  Lindy  that  she  had  dismounted 
at  the  instant  of  attaining  the  end  of  the  journey.  For  the 
colt,  at  the  beginning  of  these  tumultuous  salutations,  ran 
butting  at  his  dam,  and  failing  in  his  efforts  to  move  her, 
stooped  his  head,  squeezed  himself  through  the  space  be 
tween  her  fore  and  hind  legs,  and  fled  with  utmost  speed 
back  upon  the  way  he  had  come.  The  anxious  parent 
wheeled,  and  with  affectionate  but  alarmed  cries  rushed  in 
pursuit  of  the  fugitive.  Then  Lindy,  bent  upon  the  recov 
ery  of  these  fellow-items  of  her  new  mistress's  property, 
wheeled  also,  and — 

But  I  cannot  delay  the  account  of  events  so  much  more 
important.  The  assembled  parties  rushed  forth  to  meet  the 
bridegroom  and  his  bride,  and  a  heartier  wringing  of  hands, 
in  my  honest  opinion,  nobody  ought  ever  to  desire  to  be 
witness  to.  Mr.  Gillarn  winked  his  eyes  several  times  pain 
fully,  then  gazed  around  him  in  speechless,  abject  wonder. 


THE    RIVALRIES    OF    MR.   TOBY    GILLAM.  219 

But  for  Mrs.  Rainwater  there  is  no  telling  what  might  have 
happened. 

"  Jane,"  said  she,  "  take  your  ma  in  her  room  and  help  her 
off  with  her  bonnet  and  travellin'  things.  Go  on  with  Jane, 
Cousin  Cynthy,  bless  your  heart,  and  pull  off  and  come  back 
quick.  Let's  go  in  the  peazzer,  Cousin  Tobe,  and  let  me 
tell  you  the  good  news,  and  if  you  don't  say  they're 
good,  you  ain't  the  sensible  good  man  I've  always  took 
you  fer." 

Letting  her  lead  him  in,  he  looked  doubtfully  at  the  chair 
that  Susan  had  set  for  him.  But  being  softly  let  down  into 
it,  he  seemed  partially  thankful  that  it  had  not  exploded  be 
neath  him. 

"  Cousin  Tobe,"  said  the  lady,  "  could  you  of  supposened, 
a  smart,  sensible  man  like  you,  that  as  fine  daughters  as  you've 
got  were  goin'  to  stay  single  forever,  and  let  you  do  all  the 
marryin'  in  the  family  ?  If  you  could,  all  I  got  to  say  is, 
you  was  monst'ous  liable  to  be  mistakened.  What  you  got 
to  say  to  that  ?" 

During  this  speech  Mr.  Gillam,  whose  legs  were  some  dis 
tance  apart,  had  lowered  his  eyes,  and  was  painfully  contem 
plating  his  feet,  while  the  toes  of  both  were  scraping  the 
floor  right  and  left  alternately,  as  if  trying,  in  spite  of  the 
fixedness  of  his  other  members,  to  describe  adjacent  circles. 
At  the  question  put  by  Mrs.  Rainwater  he  lifted  his  head  and 
looked  at  Harmon  and  then  at  Jane  (who  had  now  returned 
with  her  ma),  as  if  he  rather  thought  that  he  had  some 
recollection  of  having  seen  at  least  one  of  them,  possibly 
both,  somewhere  before. 

"No,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Rainwater, "  that's  not  the  way  of  it. 
That's  Missis  Morgan  Griggs,  and  his  father  have  done  a 
good  part  by  him — give  him  two  niggers  an'  other  things 
accordin'.  If  you  want  to  know  who  Missis  Harmon  Griggs 


220  THE    RIVALRIES    OF    MR.   TOBY    GILLAM. 

is — and  that  'stonished  everybody  else  much  as  it'll  now 
'stonish  you — thar  she  stand  by  her  husband." 

And  she  pointed  to  Susan,  who,  her  cheeks  covered  with 
roses,  laid  her  hand  on  Harmon's  arm. 

Already  beyond  any  added  stupefaction,  he  lowered  his 
eves  again,  and  resting-  his  elbows  upon  his  knees,  laid  his 
chin  upon  his  open  palms,  and  seemed  to  be  entering  upon 
profound  reflection. 

"Come  now,  come  now,  Mr.  Gillam,"  said  his  wife, "  the 
girls  have  got  married  to  suit  theirselves,  and  you  can't  deny 
but  what  both  of  'em  has  married  well." 

As  if  suddenly  recalling  something  on  which  his  mind  used 
to  dwell  with  moderate  interest,  he  looked  up  and  said, 

"  Why,  hello,  Ben  !  Why,  why,  why,  whar  was  you  in  all 
thesen  k'yarns  on  ?" 

"  Cousin  Tobe,"  resumed  Mrs.  Rainwater,  "  Ben's  all  right. 
One  thing  made  us  come  over  this  evenin'  was  to  invite  you 
and  Cousin  Cynthy  to  him  and  Mandy's  weddin'  next  Tues 
day  night,  an'  the  infare  I'm  goin'  to  give  'ern  the  next 
day."  • 

"  Cynthy,"  said  Mr.  Gillam,  "don't  it  all  beat—  But— 
w bar's  your  cousin  Sally  in  all  thismixtry  an'minglin'  up  o' 
men  an'  childern,  women  an'  boys  ?  Whar's  she  ?" 
.  "Me?"  answered  the  widow,  laying  her  hand  upon  her 
breast,  "Why,  you  know,  Cousin  Tobe,  that  /  have  the 
heart-disease  ;"  and  the  whole  grove  echoed  to  the  peal  of 
her  laughter. 

Once  more  Mr.  Gillam  lowered  his  head  and  ruminated. 
Then  lifting  it,  he  said,  "  Harm  Griggs,  wuz  you  a-tellin' 
o'  me  the  fack-truth  when  you  said  you  wus  done  'ith  the 
makin'  o'  coffins  ?" 

"I  wuz,  Mr.  'Gillam,  solemn  as  ef  my  hand  were  on  the 
Bible." 


THE    RIVALRIES    OF    MR.   TOBY    G1LLAM.  223 

A  smile  by  degrees  overspread  Mr.  Gillam's  face  ;  he  rose, 
and  looking  around,  said,  "  Well,  I  got  nothin'  mo'  to  say 
fer  nev'  agin.  Ef  sech  onbeknownst,  an'  sech  onexpected, 
an'  sech  on-possible  jindin'  o'  peoples  satisfies  you  all,  they 
satisfies  me." 


THE  HOTEL  EXPERIENCE  OF 
MR.  PINK  FLUKER. 


"  Mathematici,  genus  hominum  sperantibus  fallax." — 2'acitus. 
I. 

MR.  PETERSON  FLUKER,  generally  called  Pink,  for  his 
fondness  for  as  stylish  dressing  as  he  could  afford,  was  one 
of  that  sort  of  men  who  habitually  seem  busy  and  efficient 
when  they  are  not.  He  had  the  bustling  activity  often  no 
ticeable  in  men  of  his  size,  and  in  one  way  and  another 
had  made  up,  as  he  believed,  for  being  so  much  smaller 
than  most  of  his  adult  acquaintance  of  the  male  sex.  Prom 
inent  among  his  achievements  on  that  line  was  getting  mar 
ried  to  a  woman  who,  among  other  excellent  gifts,  had  that 
of  being  twice  as  big  as  her  husband. 

"  Fool  who  ?"  on  the  day  after  his  marriage  he  had  asked, 
with  a  look  at  those  who  had  often  said  that  he  was  too 
little  to  have  a  wife.  \ 

They  had  a  little  property  to  begin  with,  a  couple  of  hun 
dreds  of  acres,  and  two  or  three  negroes  apiece.  Yet  except 
in  the  natural  increase  of  the  latter,  the  accretions  of  world 
ly  estate  had  been  inconsiderable  till  now,  when  their  oldest 
child,  Marann,  was  some  fifteen  years  old.  These  accretions 
had  been  saved  and  taken  care  of  by  Mrs.  Fluker,  who  was 
as  staid  and  silent  as  he  was  mobile  and  voluble. 


THE    HOTEL    EXPERIENCE    OF    MR.    PINK    FLUKER.     225 


Mr.  Fluker  often  said  that  it  puzzled  him  how  it  was  that 
he  made  smaller  crops  than  most  of  his  neighbors,  when, 
if  not  always  convincing,  he  could  generally  put  every  one 
of  them  to  silence  in  discussions  upon  agricultural  topics. 
This  puzzle  had  led  him  to 
not  unfrequent  ruminations 
in  his  mind  as  to  whether 
or  not  his  vocation  might 
lie  in  something  higher 
than  the  mere  tilling  of  the 
ground.  These  ruminations 
had  lately  taken  a  definite 
direction,  and  it  was  after 
several  conversations  which 
he  had  held  with  his  friend 
Matt  Pike.  - 

Mr.  Matt  Pike  was  a  bach 
elor  of  some  thirty  sum 
mers,  aforetime  clerk  con 
secutively  in  each  of  the 
two  stores  of  the  village, 
but  latterly  a  trader  on  a 
limited  scale  in  horses,  wag 
ons,  cows,  and  similar  ob 
jects  of  commerce,  and  at 
all  times  a  politician.  His 
hopes  of  holding  office  had 
been  continually  disappoint 
ed  until  Mr.  John  Sanks  be 
came  sheriff,  and  rewarded  with  a  deputyship  some  impor 
tant  special  service  rendered  by  him  in  the  late  very  close 
canvass.  Now  was  a  chance  to  rise,  Mr.  Pike  thought.  All 
he  wanted,  he  had  often  said,  was  a  start.  Politics,  I  would 
15 


f, 


"FOOL  WHO?" 


226     THE    HOTEL    EXPERIENCE    OF    MR.    PINK    FLUKER. 

remark,  however,  bad  been  regarded  by  Mr.  Pike  as  a  means 
rather  than  an  end.  It  is  doubtful  if  he  hoped  to  become 
governor  of  the  State,  at  least  before  an  advanced  period  in 
his  career.  His  main  object  now  was  to  get  money,  and  he 
believed  that  official  position  would  promote  him  in  the 
line  of  his  ambition  faster  than  was  possible  to  any  private 
station,  by  leading  him  into  more  extensive  acquaintance 
with  mankind,  their  needs,  their  desires,  and  their  caprices, 
A  deputy-sheriff,  provided  that  lawyers  were  not  too  indul 
gent  in  allowing  acknowledgment  of  service  of  court  proc 
esses,  in  postponing  levies  and  sales,  and  in  settlement  of 
litigated  cases,  might  pick  up  three  hundred  dollars — a  good 
sum  for  those  times — a  fact  which  Mr.  Pike  had  known  and 
pondered  long. 

It  happened  just  about  then  that  the  arrears  of  rent  for 
the  village  hotel  had  so  accumulated  on  Mr.  Spouter,  the 
last  occupant,  that  the  owner,  an  indulgent  man,  finally  had 
said,  what  he  had  been  expected  for  years  and  years  to  say, 
that  he  could  not  wait  on  Mr.  Spouter  forever  and  eternally. 
It  was  at  this  very  nick,  so  to  speak,  that  Mr.  Pike  made  to 
Mr.  Fluker  the  suggestion  to  quit  a  business  so  far  beneath 
his  powers,  sell  out,  or  rent  out,  or  tenant  out,  or  do  some 
thing  else  with  his  farm,  march  into  town,  plant  himself 
upon  the  ruins  of  Jacob  Spouter,  and  begin  his  upward  soar. 

Now  Mr.  Fluker  had  many  and  many  a  time  acknowl 
edged  that  he  had  ambition ;  so  one  night  he  said  to  his 
wife, 

"  You  see  how  it  is  here,  Nervy.  Farmin'  somehow  don't 
suit  my  talons.  I  need  to  be  flung  more  'mong  people  to 
fetch  out  what's  in  me.  Then  thar's  Marann,  which  is  git- 
tin'  to  be  nigh  on  to  a  growd-up  woman  ;  an'  the  child  need 
the  s'iety  which  you  'bleeged  to  acknowledge  is  sca'ce  about 
here,  six  mile  from  town.  Your  br'er  Sam  can  stay  here 


THE    HOTEL    EXPERIENCE    OF    MR.    PINK    FLUKER.     227 

an'  raise  butter,  chickens,  eggs,  pigs,  an' — an' — an'  so  forth. 
Matt  Pike  say  he  jes'  know  they's  money  in  it,  an'  'special' 
with  a  house-keeper  keerful  an'  equinomical  like  you." 

It  is  always  curious  the  extent  of  influence  that  some  men 
have  upon  wives  who  are  their  superiors.  Mrs.  Fluker,  in 
spite  of  accidents,  had  ever  set  upon  her  husband  a  value 
that  was  not  recognized  outside  of  his  family.  In  this  respect 
there  seems  a  surprising  compensation  in  human  life.  But 
this  remark  I  make  only  in  passing.  Mrs.  Fluker,  admitting 
in  her  heart  that  farming  was  not  her  husband's  forte, 
hoped,  like  a  true  wife,  that  it  might  be  found  in  the  new 
field  to  which  he  aspired.  Besides,  she  did  not  forget  that 
her  brother  Sam  had  said  to  her  several  times  privately  that 
if  his  br'er  Pink  wouldn't  have  so  many  notions,  and  would 
let  him  alone  in  his  management,  they  would  all  do  better. 
She  reflected  for  a  day  or  two,  and  then  said, 

"Maybe  it's  best,  Mr.  Fluker.  I'm  willin'  to  try  it  fer  a 
year,  anyhow.  We  can't  lose  ranch  by  that.  As  fer  Matt 
Pike,  I  hain't  the  confidence  in  him  you  has.  Still,  he  bein' 
a  boarder  and  deputy-sheriff,  he  might  accidentally  do  us 
some  good.  I'll  try  it  fer  a  year,  providin'  you'll  fetch  me 
the  money  as  it's  paid  in,  fer  you  know  I  know  how  to 
manage  that  better'n  you  do,  and  you  know  I'll  try  to  man 
age  it  and  all  the  rest  o'  the  business  fer  the  best." 

To  this  provision  Mr.  Fluker  gave  consent,  qualified  by 
the  claim  that  he  was  to  retain  a  small  margin  for  indispen 
sable  personal  exigencies.  For  he  contended,  perhaps  with 
justice,  that  no  man  in  the  responsible  position  he  was  about 
to  take  ought  to  be  expected  to  go  about,  or  sit  about,  or 
even  lounge  about,  without  even  a  continental  red  in  his 
pocket. 

The  new  house — I  say  new  because  tongue  could  not  tell 
the  amount  of  scouring,  scalding,  and  whitewashing  that 


228     THE    HOTEL    EXPERIENCE    OF    MR.   PINK    FLUKER. 

that  excellent  house-keeper  had  done  before  a  single  stick  of 
her  furniture  went  into  it — the  new  house,  I  repeat,  opened 
with  six  eating  boarders  at  ten  dollars  a  month  apiece,  and 
two  eating  and  sleeping  at  eleven,  besides  Mr.  Pike,  who 
made  a  special  contract.  Transient  custom  was  hoped  to 
hold  its  own,  and  that  of  the  county  people  under  the 
deputy's  patronage  and  influence  to  be  considerably  en 
larged. 

In  words  and  other  encouragement  Mr.  Pike  was  pro 
nounced.  He  could  commend  honestly,  and  he  did  so 
cordially. 

"  The  thing  to  do,  Pink,  is  to  have  your  prices  reg'lar,  and 
make  people  pay  up  reg'lar.  Ten  dollars  fer  eatin',  jes'  so ; 
eleb'n  fer  eatin'  an*  sleepin' ;  half  a  dollar  fer  dinner,  jes'  so  ; 
quarter  apiece  fer  breakfast,  supper,  and  bed,  is  what  I  call 
reason'ble  bo'd.  As  fer  me,  I  sca'cely  know  how  to  rig'late, 
because,  you  know,  I'm  a'  officer  now,  an'  in  course  I  natchel 
has  to  be  away  sometimes  an'  on  expenses  at  tother  places, 
an'  it  seem  like  some  'lowance  ought  by  good  rights  to  be 
made  fer  that;  don't  you  think  so?" 

"  Why,  matter  o'  course,  Matt ;  what  you  think  ?  I  ain't 
so  powerful  good  at  figgers.  Nervy  is.  S'posen  you  speak 
to  her  'bout  it." 

"  Oh,  that's  perfec'  unuseless,  Pink.  I'm  a'  officer  o'  the 
law,  Pink,  an'  the  law  consider  women — well,  I  may  say  the 
law  she  deal  'ith  men,  not  women,  an'  she  expect  her  officers 
to  understan'  figgers,  an'  if  I  hadn't  o'  understood  figgers  Mr. 
Sanks  wouldn't  or  darsn't  to  'p'int  me  his  dep'ty.  Me  V 
you  can  fix  them  terms.  Now  see  here  ;  reg'lar  bo'd — eat- 
in'  bo'd,  I  mean — is  ten  dollars,  an'  sleepin'  and  singuil  meals 
is  'cordin'  to  the  figgers  you've  sot  fer  'em.  Ain't  that  so? 
Jes'  so.  Now,  Pink,  you  an'  me'll  keep  a  runnin'  account, 
you  a-chargin' fer  reg'lar  bo'd,  an'  I  'lowin'  to  myself  cred- 


THE    HOTEL    EXPERIENCE    OF    MR.    PINK    FLUKER.     229 

ics  fer  my  absentees,  accordin'  to  transion  customers  an'  sin- 
guil  mealers  an'  sleepers.  Is  that  fa'r,  er  is  it  not  fa'r?" 

Mr.  Fluker  turned  his  head,  and  after  making,  or  thinking 
he  had  made,  a  calculation,  answered, 

"That's— that  seem  fa'r,  Matt." 

"  Cert'nly  'tis,  Pink  ;  I  knovved  you'd  say  so,  an'  you  know 
Td  never  wish  to  be  nothin'  but  fa'r  'ith  people  I  like,  like  I 
do  you  an'  your  wife.  Let  that  be  the  understanding  then, 
betwix'  us.  An'  Pink,  let  the  understandin'  be  jes'  betwix' 
us,  fer  I've  saw  enough  o'  this  world  to  find  out  that  a  man 
never  makes  nothin'  by  makin'  ablowin'  horn  o'  his  business. 
You  make  the  tothers  pay  up  spuntial,  monthly.  You  'n' 
me  can  settle  whensomever  it's  convenant,  say  three  months 
from  to-day.  In  cose  I  shall  talk  up  fer  the  house  when 
somever  and  wharsomevcr  I  go  or  stay.  You  know  that. 
An'  as  fer  my  bed,"  said  Mr.  Pike,  finally,  "  whensomever  I 
ain»'t  here  by  bedtime,  you  welcome  to  put  any  transion  per 
son  in  it ,  an'  also  an'  likewise,  when  transion  custom  is  press- 
in',  and  you  cramped  fer  beddin',  I'm  willin'  to  give  it  up 
fer  the  time  bein' ;  an'  rather' n  you  should  be  cramped  too 
bad,  I'll  take  my  chances  somewhars  else,  even  if  I  has  to 
take  a  pallet  at  the  head  o'  the  sta'r-steps." 

"Nervy,"  said  Mr.  Fluker  to  his  wife  afterwards,  "Matt 
Pike's  a  sensible!1  an'  a  friendlier  an'  a  'commodatiner  feller'n 
I  thought." 

Then,  without  giving  details  of  the  contract,  he  mentioned 
merely  the  willingness  of  their  boarder  to  resign  his  bed  on 
occasions  of  pressing  emergency. 

"He's  talked  mighty  fine  to  me  and  Marann,"  answered 
Mrs.  Fluker.  "  We'll  see  how  he  holds  out.  One  thing  I 
do  not  like  of  his  doin',  an'  that's  the  talkin'  'bout  Sim  March- 
man  to  Marann,  an'  makin'  game  o'  his  country  ways,  as  he 
call  'em.  Scch  as  that  ain't  right." 


230    THE    HOTEL    EXPERIENCE    OF    MR.   PINK  FLUKER. 

It  may  be  as  well  to  explain  just  here  that  Simeon  March- 
man,  the  person  just  named  by  Mrs.  Fluker,  a  stout,  indus 
trious  young  farmer,  residing  with  his  parents  in  the  coun 
try  near  where  the  Flukers  had  dwelt  before  removing  to 
town,  had  been  eying  Marann  for  a  year  or  two,  and  wait 
ing  upon  her  fast-ripening  womanhood  with  intentions  that 
he  believed  to  be  hidden  in  his  own  breast,  though  he  had 
taken  less  pains  to  conceal  them  from  Marann  than  from  the 
rest  of  his  acquaintance.  Not  that  he  had  ever  told  her  of 
them  in  so  many  words,  but —  Oh,  I  need  not  stop  here  in 
the  midst  of  this  narration  to  explain  how  such  intentions 
become  known,  or  at  least  strongly  suspected  by  girls,  even 
those  less  bright  than  Marann  Fluker.  Simeon  had  not  cord 
ially  indorsed  the  movement  into  town,  though,  of  course, 
knowing  it  was  none  of  his  business,  he  had  never  so  much 
as  hinted  opposition.  I  would  not  be  surprised,  also,  if  he 
reflected  that  there  might  be  some  selfishness  in  his  hostility, 
or  at  least  that  it  was  heightened  by  apprehensions  personal 
to  himself. 

Considering  the  want  of  experience  in  the  new  tenants, 
matters  went  on  remarkably  well.  Mrs.  Fluker,  accustomed 
to  rise  from  her  couch  long  before  the  lark,  managed  to  the 
satisfaction  of  all — regular  boarders,  single-meal  takers,  and 
transient  people.  Marann  went  to  the  village  school,  her 
mother  dressing  her,  though  with  prudent  economy,  as 
neatly  and  almost  as  tastefully  as  any  of  her  schoolmates; 
while,  as  to  study,  deportment,  and  general  progress,  there 
was  not  a  girl  in  the  whole  school  to  beat  her,  I  don't  care 
who  she  was. 

II. 

During  a  not  inconsiderable  period  Mr.  Fluker  indulged 
the  honorable  conviction  that  at  last  he  had  found  the  vein 
in  which  his  best  talents  lay,  and  he  was  happy  in  foresight 


THE    HOTEL    EXPERIENCE    OF    MR.   PINK    FLUKER.     231 

of  the  prosperity  and  felicity  which  that  discovery  promised 
to  himself  and  his  family.  His  native  activity  found  many 
more  objects  for  its  exertion  than  before.  He  rode  out  to 
the  farm,  not  often,  but  sometimes,  as  a  matter  of  duty,  and 
was  forced  to  acknowledge  that  Sam  was  managing  better 
than  could  have  been  expected  in  the  absence  of  his  own 
continuous  guidance.  In  town  he  walked  about  the  hotel, 
entertained  the  guests,  carved  at  the  meals,  hovered  about 
the  stores,  the  doctors'  offices,  the  wagon  and  blacksmith 
shops,  discussed  mercantile,  medical,  mechanical  questions 
with  specialists  in  all  these  departments,  throwing  into  them 
all  more  and  more  of  politics  as  the  intimacy  between  him 
and  his  patron  and  chief  boarder  increased. 

Now  as  to  that  patron  and  chief  boarder.  The  need  of 
extending  his  acquaintance  seemed  to  press  upon  Mr.  Pike 
with  ever-increasing  weight.  He  was  here  and  there,  all 
over  the  county ;  at  the  county-seat,  at  the  county  villages, 
at  justices'  courts,  at  executors'  and  administrators'  sales,  at 
quarterly  and  protracted  religious  meetings,  at  barbecues  of 
every  dimension,  on  hunting  excursions  and  fishing  frolics, 
at  social  parties  in  all  neighborhoods.  It  got  to  be  said  of 
Mr.  Pike  that  a  freer  accepter  of  hospitable  invitations,  or  a 
better  appreciator  of  hospitable  intentions,  was  not,  and  need 
ed  not,  to  be  found  possibly  in  the  whole  State.  Nor  was 
this  conspicuous  deportment  confined  to  the  county  in  which 
he  held  so  high  official  position.  He  attended,  among  other 
occasions  less  public,  the  spring  sessions  of  the  Supreme  and 
County  courts  in  the  four  adjoining  counties :  the  guest  of 
acquaintance  old  and  new  over  there.  When  starting  upon 
such  travels  he  would  sometimes  breakfast  with  his  travel 
ling  companion  in  the  village,  and  if  somewhat  belated  in 
the  return,  sup  with  him  also. 

Yet,  when  at  the  Flukers',  no  man  could  have  been  a  more 


232     THE    HOTEL    EXPERIENCE    OF    MR.    PINK    FLUKER. 

cheerful  and  otherwise  satisfactory  boarder  than  Mr.  Matt 
Pike.  He  praised  every  dish  set  before  him,  bragged  to 
their  very  faces  of  his  host  and  hostess,  and  in  spite  of  his 
absences  was  the  oftenest  to  sit  and  chat  with  Marann  when 
her  mother  would  let  her  go  into  the  parlor.  Here  and 
everywhere  about  the  house,  in  the  dining-room,  in  the  pas 
sage,  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  he  would  joke  with  Marann 
about  her  country  beau,  as  he  styled  poor  Sim  March  man, 
and  he  would  talk  as -though  he  was  rather  ashamed  of  Sim, 
and  wanted  Marann  to  string  her  bow  for  higher  game. 

Br'er  Sam  did  manage  well,  not  only  the  fields,  but  the 
yard.  Every  Saturday  of  the  world  he  sent  in  something 
or  other  to  his  sister.  I  don't  know  whether  I  ought  to  tell 
it  or  not,  but  for  the  sake  of  what  is  due  to  pure  veracity  I 
will.  On  as  many  as  three  different  occasions  Sim  March- 
man,  as  if  he  had  lost  all  self-respect,  or  had  not  a  particle 
of  tact,  brought  in  himself,  instead  of  sending  by  a  negro, 
a  bucket  of  butter  and  a  coop  of  spring  chickens  as  a  free 
gift  to  Mrs.  Fluker.  I  do  think,  on  my  soul,  that  Mr.  Matt 
Pike  was  too  much  amused  by  such  degradation — however, 
he  must  say  that  they  were  all  first-rate.  As  for  Marann, 
she  was  very  sorry  for  Sim,  and  wished  he  had  not  brought 
these  good  things  at  all. 

Nobody  knew  how  it  came  about;  but  when  the  Flukers 
had  been  in  town  somewhere  between  two  and  three  months, 
Sim  Marchrnan,  who  (to  use  his  own  words)  had  never  both 
ered  Marann  a  great  deal  with  his  visits,  began  to  suspect 
that  what  few  he  made  were  received  by  her  lately  with  less 
cordiality  than  before;  and  so*  one  day,  knowing  no  better 
in  his  awkward,  straightforward  country  manners,  he  want 
ed  to  know  the  reason  why.  Then  Marann  grew  distant, 
and  asked  Sim  the  following  question  : 

"  You  know  where  Mr.  Pike's  gone,  Mr.  Marchman  ?" 


THE    HOTEL    EXPERIENCE    OF    MR.   PINK    FLUKER.     233 

Now  the  fact  was,  and  she  knew  it,  that  Marann  Flnker 
had  never  before,  not  since  she  was  born,  addressed  that  boy 
as  Mister. 

The  visitor's  face  reddened  and  reddened. 

"  No,"  he  faltered  in  answer  ;  "  no — no — ma'am,  I  should 
say.  I — I  don't  know  where  Mr.  Pike's  gone." 

Then  he  looked  around  for  his  hat,  discovered  it  in  time, 
took  it  into  his  hands,  turned  it  around  two  or  three  times, 
then  bidding  good-by  without  shaking  hands,  took  himself 
off. 

Mrs.  Fluker  liked  all  the  Marchmans,  and  she  was  troubled 
somewhat  when  she  heard  of  the  quickness  and  manner  of 
Sim's  departure ;  for  he  had  been  fully  expected  by  her  to 
stay  to  dinner. 

"  Say  be  didn't  even  shake  hands,  Marann  ?  What  for  ? 
What  you  do  to  him  ?" 

"  Not  one  blessed  thing,  ma  ;  only  he  wanted  to  know 
why  I  wasn't  gladder  to  see  him."  Then  Marann  looked 
indignant. 

"  Say  them  words,  Marann  ?" 

"  No,  but  he  hinted  'em." 

"  What  did  you  say  then  ?" 

"  I  jes'  asked,  a-meaning  nothing  in  the  wide  world,  ma — 
I  asked  him  if  he  knew  where  Mi*.  Pike  had  gone." 

"  And  that  were  answer  enough  to  hurt  his  feelins.  What 
you  want  to  know  where  Matt  Pike's  gone  fer,  Marann  ?" 

"  I  didn't  care  about  knowing,  ma,  but  I  didn't  like  the 
way  Sim  talked." 

"Look  here,  Marann.  Look  straight  at  me.  You'll  be 
mighty  fur  off  your  feet  if  you  let  Matt  Pike  put  things  in 
your  head  that  hain't  no  business  a-bein'  there,  and  'special' 
if  you  find  yourself  a-wantin'  to  know  where  he's  a  pream- 
bulatin'  in  his  cverlastin1  mnanderins.  Not  a  cent  has  he 


234     THE    HOTEL    EXPERIENCE    OF    MR.   PINK    FLUKER. 

paid  for  his  board,  and  which  your  pa  say  he  have  a'  under- 
standin'  with  him  about  allowin' for  his  absentees,  which  is 
all  right  enough,  but  which  it's  now  goin'  on  to  three  mont's, 
and  what  is  comin'  to  us  I  need  and  I  want.  He  ought — 
your  pa  ought  to  let  me  bargain  with  Matt  Pike,  because  he 
know  he  don't  understan'  figgers  like  Matt  Pike.  He  don't 
know  exactly  what  the  bargain  were ;  for  I've  asked  him, 
and  he  always  begins  with  a  multiplyin'  o'  words  and  never 
answers  me." 

On  his  next  return  from  his  travels  Mr.  Pike  noticed  a 
coldness  in  Mrs.  Fltiker's  manner,  and  this  enhanced  his 
praise  of  the  house.  The  last  week  of  the  third  month 
came.  Mr.  Pike  was  often  noticed,  before  and  after  meals, 
standing  at  the  desk  in  the  hotel  office  (called  in  those  times 
the  bar-room)  engaged  in  making  calculations.  The  day  be 
fore  the  contract  expired  Mrs.  Flukcr,  who  had  not  indulged 
herself  with  a  single  holiday  since  they  had  been  in  town, 
left  Marann  in  charge  of  the  house,  and  rode  forth,  spending 
part  of  the  day  with  Mrs.  Marchman,  Sim's  mother.  All 
were  glad  to  see  her,  of  course,  and  she  returned  smartly 
freshened  by  the  visit.  That  night  she  had  a  talk  with  Ma 
rann,  and  oh  how  Marann  did  cry  ! 

The  very  last  day  came.  Like  insurance  policies,  the  con 
tract  was  to  expire  at  a  certain  hour.  Sim  Marchman  came 
just  before  dinner,  to  which  he  was  sent  for  by  Mrs.  Fluker, 
who  had  seen  him  as  he  rode  into  town. 

"  Hello,  Sim,"  said  Mr.  Pike  as  he  took  his  seat  opposite 
him.  "  You  here  ?  What's  the  news  in  the  country  ?  How's 
your  health  ?  How's  crops  ?" 

"  Jes'  mod'rate,  Mr.  Pike.  Got  little  business  with  you 
after  dinner,  ef  you  can  spare  time." 

"  All  right.  Got  a  little  matter  with  Pink  here  first. 
Twon't  take  long.  See  you  arfter  amejiant,  Sim." 


THE    HOTEL   EXPEEIENCE    OF   MB.   PINK    FLUKER.     237 

Never  had  the  deputy  been  more  gracious  and  witty.  He 
talked  and  talked,  out-talking  even  Mr.  Flnker ;  he  was  the 
only  man  in  town  who  could  do  that.  He  winked  at  Ma- 
rann  as  he  put  questions  to  Sim,  some  of  the  words  employed 
in  which  Sim  had  never  heard  before.  Yet  Sim  held  up  as 
well  as  he  could,  and  after  dinner  followed  Marann  with 
some  little  dignity  into  the  parlor.  They  had  not  been 
there  more  than  ten  minutes  when  Mrs.  Fluker  was  heard 
to  walk  rapidly  along  the  passage  leading  from  the  dining- 
room,  to  enter  her  own  chamber  for  only  a  moment,  then  to 
come  out  and  rush  to  the  parlor  door  with  the  gig-whip  in 
her  hand.  Such  uncommon  conduct  in  a  woman  like  Mrs. 
Pink  Fluker  of  course  needs  explanation. 

When  all  the  other  boarders  had  left  the  house,  the  depu 
ty  and  Mr.  Fluker  having  repaired  to  the  bar-room,  the  for 
mer  said, 

"  Now,  Pink,  for  our  settlement,  as  you  say  your  wife 
think  we  better  have  one.  I'd  'a'  been  willin'  to  let  accounts 
keep  on  a-runnin',  knowin'  what  a  straightforrards  sort  o' 
man  you  was.  Your  count,  ef  I  ain't  mistakened,  is  jes' 
thirty-three  dollars,  even  money.  Is  that  so,  or  is  it  not  ?" 

"  That's  it  to  a  dollar,  Matt.  Three  times  eleben  make 
thirty -three,  don't  it?" 

"  It  do,  Pink,  or  eleben  times  three,  jes'  which  you  please. 
Now  here's  my  count,  on  which  you'll  see,  Pink,  that  not 
nary  cent  have  I  charged  for  infloonce.  I  has  infloonced  a 
consider'ble  custom  to  this  house,  as  you  know,  bo'din'  and 
transion.  But  I  done  that  out  o'  my  respects  of  you  an' 
Missis  Fluker,  an'  your  keepin'  of  a  fa'r — I'll  say,  as  I've  said 
freckwent,  a  very  fa'r  house.  I  let  them  infloonces  go  to 
friendship,  ef  you'll  take  it  so.  Will  you,  Pink  Fluker  ?" 

"  Cert'nly,  Matt,  an'  I'm  a  thousand  times  obleeged  to 
yon,  an' — " 


238     THE    HOTEL    EXPERIENCE    OF    ME.   PINK    FLUKER. 

"  Say  no  more,  Pink,  on  that  p'int  o'  view.  Ef  I  like  a 
man  I  know  how  to  treat  him.  Now  as  to  the  p'ints  o'  ab 
sentees,  my  business  as  dep'ty-sheriff  has  took  me  away  from 
this  inconsiderable  town  freckwent,  hain't  it  ?" 

"  It  have,  Matt,  er  somethin'  else,  more'n  I  were  a  ex- 
pectin',  an' — " 

"Jes'so.  But  a  public  officer,  Pink,  when  jooty  call  on 
him  to  go,  he  got  to  go  ;  in  fack  he  got  to  goth,  as  the  Script- 
ur'  say  ;  ain't  that  so  ?" 

"  I  s'pose  so,  Matt,  by  good  rights,  a — a  official  speakin'." 

Mr.  Fluker  felt  that  he  was  becoming  a  little  confused. 

"  Jes'  so.  Now,  Pink,  I  were  to  have  credics  for  my  ab 
sentees  'cordin'  to  transion  an'  single-meal  bo'ders  an'  sleep 
ers  ;  ain't  that  so  ?" 

"I  —  I — somethin'  o'  that  sort,  Matt,"  Mr.  Fluker  an 
swered,  vaguely. 

"Jes'so.  Now  look  here,"  drawing  from  his  pocket  a 
paper.  "Itomone.  Twenty-eight  dinners  at  half  a  dollar 
makes  fourteen  dollars,  don't  it?  Jcs'  so.  Twenty -five 
breakfasts  at  a  quarter  makes  six  an'  a  quarter,  which  make 
dinners  an'  breakfasts  twenty  an'  a  quarter.  Foller  me  up 
as  I  go  up,  Pink.  Twenty-five  suppers  at  a  quarter  makes 
six  an'  a  quarter,  an'  which  them  added  to  the  twenty  an' 
a  quarter,  makes  them  twenty-six  an'  a  half.  Foller,  Pink, 
an'  if  you  ketch  me  in  any  mistakes  in  the  k'yar'n'  an'  addin' 
p'int  it  out.  Twenty-two  an'  a  half  beds — an'  I  say  half, 
Pink,  because  you  'member  one  night  when  them  A'gusty 
lawyers  got  here  'bout  midnight  on  their  way  to  co't,  ruth- 
er  'n  have  you  too  bad  cramped,  I  ris  to  make  way  for  two 
of  'em  ;  yit  as  I  had  one  good  nap,  I  didn't  think  I  ought 
to  put  that  down  but  for  half.  Them  makes  five  dollars  half 
an'  seb'n  pence,  an'  which  k'yar'd  on  to  the  tother  twenty- 
six  an'  a  half,  fetches  the  whole  cnbool  to  jes'  thirty  -  two 


THE    HOTEL    EXPERIENCE    OF    MR.    PINK    FLUKER.     241 

dollars  an'  seb'n  pence.  But  I  made  up  my  mind  I'd  fling- 
out  that  seb'n  pence,  an'  jes'  call  it  a  dollar  even  money, 
an'  which  here's  the  solid  silver." 

In  spite  of  the  rapidity  with  which  this  enumeration  of 
countercharges  was  made,  Mr.  Fluker  commenced  perspiring 
at  the  first  item,  and  when  the  balance  was  announced  his 
face  was  covered  with  huge  drops. 

It  was  at  this  juncture  that  Mrs.  Fluker,  who,  well-know 
ing  her  husband's  unfamiliarity  with  complicated  accounts, 
had  felt  it  her  duty  to  be  listening  near  the  bar-room  door, 
left,  and  quickly  afterwards  appeared  before  Marann  and 
Sim  as  I  have  represented. 

"  You  think  Matt  Pike  ain't  tryin'  to  settle  with  your  pa 
with  a  dollar?  I'm  goin'  to  make  him  keep  his  dollar,  an' 
I'm  goin'  to  give  him  somethin'  to  go  'long  with  it." 

"The  good  Lord  have  mercy  upon  us  !"  exclaimed  Marann, 
springing  up  and  catching  hold  of  her  mother's  skirts  as  she 
began  her  advance  towards  the  bar-room.  "  Oh,  ma !  for 
the  Lord's  sake ! — Sim,  Sim,  Sim,  if  you  care  anything  for 
me  in  this  wide  world,  don't  let  ma  go  into  that  room  !" 

"  Missis  Fluker,"  said  Sim,  rising  instantly,  "  wait  jest 
two  minutes  till  I  see  Mr.  Pike  on  some  pressin'  business; 
I  won't  keep  you  over  two  minutes  a-waitin'." 

He  took  her,  set  her  down  in  a  chair  trembling,  looked  at 
her  a  moment  as  she  began  to  weep,  then,  going  out  and 
closing  the  door,  strode  rapidly  to  the  bar-room. 

"  Let  me  help  you  settle  your  board  -  bill,  Mr.  Pike,  by 
payin'  you  a  little  one  I  owe  you." 

Doubling  his  fist,  he  struck  out  with  a  blow  that  felled  the 
deputy  to  the  floor.  Then  catching  him  by  his  heels,  he 
dragged  him  out  of  the  house  into  the  street.  Lifting  his 
foot  above  his  face,  he  said, 

"You  stir  till  I  tell  you  an'  I'll  stomp  your  nose  down 


242     THE    HOTEL    EXPERIENCE     OF    MR.    PINK    FLUKER. 

even  with  the  balance  of  your  mean  face.  'Tain't  exactly 
my  business  how  you  cheated  Mr.  Fluker,  though,  'pon  my 
soul,  I  never  knowed  a  trifliner,  lowdowner  trick.  But  / 
owed  you  myself  for  your  talkin'  'bout  an'  your  lyin'  'bout 
me,  and  now  I've  paid  you  ;  an'  ef  you  only  knowed  it,  I've 
saved  you  from  a  gig-whippin'.  Now  you  may  git  up." 

"Here's  his  dollar,  Sim,"  said  Mr.  Fluker,  throwing  it  out 
o-f  the  window.  "  Nervy  say  make  him  take  it." 

The  vanquished,  not  daring  to  refuse,  pocketed  the  coin 
and  slunk  away  amid  the  jeers  of  a  score  of  villagers  who 
had  been  drawn  to  the  scene. 

In  all  human  probability  the  late  omission  of  the  shaking 
of  Sim's  and  Marann's  hands  was  compensated  at  their  part 
ing  that  afternoon.  I  am  more  confident  on  this  point  be 
cause  at  the  end  of  the  year  those  hands  were  joined  insep 
arably  by  the  preacher.  But  this  was  when  they  had  all 
gone  back  to  their  old  home ;  for  if  Mr.  Fluker  did  not  be 
come  fully  convinced  that  his  mathematical  education  was 
not  advanced  quite  enough  for  all  the  exigencies  of  hotel- 
keeping,  his  wife  declared  that  she  had  had  enough  of  it, 
and  that  she  and  Marann  were  going  home.  Mr.  Fluker 
may  be  said,  therefore,  to  have  followed,  rather  than  led,  his 
family  on  the  return. 

As  for  the  deputy,  finding  that  if  he  did  not  leave  it  vol 
untarily  he  would  be  drummed  out  of  the  village,  he  depart 
ed,  whither  I  do  not  remember,  if  anybody  ever  knew. 


THE  WIMPY  ADOPTIONS. 


"  They  make  time  old  to  tend  them,  and  experience 
An  ass,  they  alter  so." — Mad  Lover. 

I. 

"  WHEN  people  begin  on  the  adaptin'  of  other  people's 
childern,  they  is  never  any  tellin'  where  it'll  all  end."  This 
remark  used  to  be  made  often  by  one  of  the  most  excellent 
ladies  in  our  neighborhood.  Long  before  its  first  utterance, 
and  the  events  which  I  purpose  now  to  relate,  Mr.  Lazarus 
Wimpy,  after  a  courtship  languidly  extended  through  many 
years,  married  the  woman  whom  gradually  he  had  come  to 
believe  about  as  well  fitted  to  promote  his  domestic  well- 
being  as  any  that  he  might  reasonably  hope  to  obtain. 
The  fruits  of  this  marriage,  coming  at  equal  intervals-  of 
two  years,  three  weeks,  and  six  days  (an  interesting  freak 
of  periodicity,  Mr.  Wimpy  always  thought),  were,  first, 
Faithy,  a  daughter,  then  Lawson,  a  son,  lastly,  Creecy,  a 
daughter.  Their  dwelling,  six  miles  west  of  the  village, 
half  a  mile  north  from  the  public  road,  having,  besides  the 
usual  two  shed  rooms  in  the  rear,  a  small  one  at  one  end  of 
the  front  piazza,  stood  upon  a  knoll,  near  the  centre  of  the 
plantation  of  some  four  hundred  acres  of  good,  though 
rather  rolling,  land.  Near,  on  one  side,  were  the  kitchen, 
smoke-house,  dairy,  and  two  cabins,  quite  enough  for  their 
small  squad  of  negroes.  On  the  other,  outside  of  the  yard, 


244  THE    WIMPY    ADOPTIONS. 

were  the  horse  and  cattle  lots.  In  the  rear  was  the  garden, 
and  in  front,  at  the  foot  of  the  knoll,  was  the  spring  that 
ever  since  the  settlement  thereby  had  been  the  talk  of  the 
neighborhood,  and  the  pride,  though  not  boastful,  of  the 
family.  There  was  hardly  a  homestead  in  that  region  that 
had  not  a  spring  of  some  sort  near  by,  though  the  larger 
planters  generally  had  wells  dug  in  their  yards  for  the  sake 
of  more  convenience  and  sometimes  greater  coolness.  But 
one  attempt  had  ever  been  made  to  supplement  the  water 
supply  on  the  Wimpy  place.  Miss  Faithy  used  to  tell  of 
that  in  words  that  showed  becoming  compassion  for  the 
needy  expert  who  proposed  it. 

"  They  come  a  man  'long  here  one  day,  with  a  bundle  o' 
green  switches  under  his  arm,  prewidin'  that  with  ary  one 
o'  them  he  could  tell  where  to  git  water  the  quickest  and 
rnoest.  I  didn't  laugh  right  out  in  the  man's  face,  because 
my  parrents  never  raised  me  to  sech  as  that ;  but  I  told  him, 
polite  as  I  could,  to  foller  me,  if  he  choosed,  a  few  steps. 
When  he  had  laid  ey.es  on  our  spring,  an'  when  he  have 
drunk  a  gourd  I  give  him  with  my  own  hands,  the  man 
looked,  he  did,  like  he  war  'shamed  of  hisself,  an'  I  were 
that  sorry  fer  him,  I  made  him  set  down  on  the  bench 
under  the  big  sweet-gum,  an'  I  went  an'  fetched  some  light- 
bread  an'  butter,  an'  honey,  to  go  'long  of  the  jug  o'  milk 
were  already  there.  He  'peared  like  he  feel  some  better 
then;  for  he  were' a  person  of  good,  healthy  appetites,  an' 
the  nex'  I  heerd  of  him  he  were  stretchin'  his  switches  on 
the  Alfords'  preemerses,  an'  no  wonder ;  because  they  has 
nigh  on  to  a  hundred  in  fambly  besides  of  stock,  an'  their 
spring  have  to  be  cleaned  out  every  'casional  in  the  bar 
gain.  But  as  fer  me,  a  body  ought  to  try  to  not  to  be 
proud,  an'  that  of  the  blessen's  of  Providence — yit  I  am 
not  a  person  that  I  could  invie  them,  no  matter  how 


THE    WIMPY    ADOPTIONS.  245 

many  niggers,  that  has  to  drink  well  -  water,  for  man  an"1 
beast." 

Do  I  not  remember  that  spring  with  its  bold  babblings 
from  the  pebbly  bottom,  impatient  of  the  great  rock  curb 
that  delayed  them  to  supply  that  economical  family,  before 
hastening  to  the  creek  a  mile  away,  and  the  white  oaks 
above,  and  the  willows  and  sweet -gum  below,  under  the 
last  of  which  Mr.  Lawson  used  to  sit  and  watch  the  bees 
coming  to  drink,  and  whenever  I  and  other  children  would 
be  there  revelling  in  the  glorious  refections  extended  by  Miss 
Faithy,  tell  us  tales  of  his  huntings  in  the  forests  all  around  ? 

When  I  first  knew  these  neighbors  the  parents  had  been 
long  dead.  The  youngest  child,  lately  widowed  by  the  death 
of  her  husband,  who,  during  the  ten  or  a  dozen  years  of 
married  life,  had  spent  the  little  property  she  had  inherited, 
had  come"  back  to  her  native  homestead.  Her  sister  and 
brother  had  never  married,  and  now  were  never  so  much  as 
dreaming  of  such  a  thing.  It  was  a  harmonious  family ; 
that  is,  in  the  main.  The  younger  sister,  after  her  return, 
on  occasions  at  first  frequent,  then  at  intervals  of  irreg 
ular  duration,  showed  signs  that  she  considered  that  she 
should  be  regarded  as  the  head  of  the  family,  basing  this 
claim  upon  the  wisdom  presumed  to  have  come  from  mar 
riage  experience,  a  gift  not  possessed  by  the  others,  and 
which,  at  their  ages,  regarded  by  herself  so  very  far  advanced 
beyond  her  own,  it  was  not  to  be  expected  that  they  ever 
would  attain.  But  Miss  Faithy,  with  more  or  less  decision 
of  mood  and  manner,  ignored  this  claim,  and  held  to  the 
position  to  which  she  believed  that  by  her  age,  if  nothing 
else,  she  was  entitled.  She  had  inherited  (from  some  remote 
ancestor,  as  seemed  likely)  energy  to  a  good,  not  to  say 
high,  degree,  and,  as  a  general  thing,  she  was  able  to  express 
herself  even  with  some  animation,  when  believed  proper,  on 
16 


246  THE    WIMPY    ADOPTIONS. 

whatsoever  subject  she  felt  herself  competent  to  discuss. 
Contrariwise,  her  brother  was  mild  and  taciturn,  though  not 
gloomy,  nor,  strictly  speaking,  indolent.  If  he  had  been 
as  active  a  person  as  his  elder  sister,  it  is  possible  that  their 
estate,  yet  held  jointly,  would  have  been  larger.  But  they 
both  felt  that  the  accretions  had  been  enough  for  their 
needs ;  so  the  sister  never  complained,  nor  felt  like  complain 
ing,  at  her  brother's  habitual  pitch  of  the  crop  and  other 
out-door  work  at  a  figure  that  would  not  hinder  his  indul 
gence  in  the  pastimes  of  which,  one  especially,  he  had  been 
fond  from  his  youth.  The  lead  in  the  household  he  had 
willingly  yielded,  since  the  death  of  their  parents,  to  his 
elder  sister.  This  submission,  instead  of  diminishing  her 
affection  and  respect  for  him,  enhanced  them ;  for  the  taci 
turn,  yielding  man  will  more  often  be  appreciated  at  his  just 
value  than  the  loud  and  domineering.  Habitually  Miss 
Faithy  consulted  him  in  matters  about  which  she  was 
doubtful,  and  she  sometimes  said, 

"Lawson  may  be  a  say-nothin'.kind  of  person  ;  but  you 
git  into  de-ficulties  in  your  mind,  an'  they  is  monst'ous  few 
men  their  jedgments  /  ruther  have.  When  you  git  down 
to  the  bottom  o'  Lawson,  he's  deep." 

The  ladies,  especially  Miss  Faithy,  were  tall,  somewhat 
gaunt,  but  not  uncomely,  full  of  health,  first-rate  house 
keepers  (especially  the  elder),  hospitable,  economical,  given 
(notably  the  younger)  to  visiting  among  the  neighbors,  and 
always  glad,  even  to  acknowledged  gratitude,  when  visited 
by  them.  The  gentleman  was  of  middle  height,  inclining 
of  late  years  slightly  towards  stoutness,  slow  and  low  of 
speech,  yet,  if  you  gave  him  time,  able  to  interest  more  than 
you  would  have  expected.  If  he  had  been  pressed  to  ad 
mit  what  he  had  most  special  fondness  for,  his  answer  must 
have  been  bee-hunting.  In  this  sport  he  was  as  successful 


THE    WIMPY    ADOPTIONS.  247 

as  fond.  The  number  of  bee-trees  that  he  had  found  and 
reduced  not  even  himself  could  have  told.  Whenever  in 
his  presence  a  bee  rose  from  drinking  at  the  Wimpy  spring- 
branch,  as  soon  as  with  wings  outspread  he  set  forth  on  his 
line,  Mr.  Wimpy  would  know  if  he  were  domestic  or  savage. 
If  the  latter,  marking  with  his  eye  the  insect's  departure 
and  latitude  with  a  precision  that  no  compass  and  quadrant 
could  surpass,  he  would  set  out  at  his  leisure,  and  afterwards 
tree  him  as  infallibly  as  if  he  were  already  working  in  the 
Wimpy  garden. 

A  peaceful,  harmless  life  was  that  led  in  this  household. 
WThat  interruptions  were  made  by  the  younger  sister's  am 
bitions  were  never  important,  and  they  diminished  with  the 
lapse  of  time.  Not  often  was  allusion  made  by  the  head  of 
the  family  to  her  departed  brother-in-law,  but  sometimes  to 
Mrs.  Keenum,  her  closest  neighbor,  she  would  talk  about 
thus : 

"  People  ought  to  try  to  be  thankful,  Betsy,  that  it  were 
a  blessin'  the  po'  creetur  leff  no  offsprings ;  an'  if  it  wasn't 
a  sin,  a  body  might  not  feel  like  cryin'  too  much  when  he 
went ;  which  Dr.  Lewis  told  me  in  the  strictest  confidence, 
that  nigh  as  he  could  come  to  his  diseases,  he  thes  give  out 
from  bein'  of  no  'count.  An',  which  in  cose  it  is  not  the 
jooty  of  a  person  to  talk  too  much  about  them  that's  dead 
an'  goned,  but  what  beat  me  is  Creecy  a-tryin'  to  fling  up 
sometimes  to  me  an'  Lawson,  of  her  onct  a-bein'  of  a  mar 
ried  person  an'  me  not,  to  give  her  the  k'yarrin'  of  the 
smoke-house  an'  pantry  keys,  like  ef  the  livin'  of  thirteen 
year  with  sech  as  Reddin  Copelhi  have  made  a  wisdom  out 
of  her  an'  a  ejiot  of  me.  Yit  we  was  thankful,  me  an'  Law- 
son,  when  she  could  git  back  where  she  could  git  a-plenty 
to  eat;  an'  ef  the  child  knowed  her  own  mind,  she  were 
thankful  as  we  was.  But  its  cur'ous  how  the  gittin'  of 


248  THE    WIMPY    ADOPTIONS. 

married  of  some  women,  makes  no  odds  how  triflin'  the 
men  they  took  up  with,  'special'  when  they're  vvidders,  how 
they  can  consate  that  they  must  be  the  heads  of  people 
that's  older  than  them,  an'  norate  an'  go  on  same  as  ef  they 
be'n  to  a  colleges  somewheres,  nobody  knows  wheres.  I 
suppose  it's  a  some  consolation  that  ef  they  got  nothin'  else 
to  brag  about,  they've  had  expeunce  o'  things  which  is 
worth  more  than  them  that  hain't  been  calc'latin'  on.  Yit 
Creecy's  a  affectionate  sister,  an'  in  giner'l  she  give  up 
when  she  see  that  I  can't  be  conwinced  she  learnt  that  much 
from  Red  Copelin  that  I  can't  'tend  to  my  own  business." 

This  was  the  only  drop  that  was  not  sweet  in  the  cup  so 
abounding  with  peace  and  plenty.  It  was  only  a  drop,  and 
that  not  a  bitter  one.  I  remember  that  when  I  used  to  go 
there  to  carry  or  bring  away  some  work  (for  Miss  Faithy 
was  a  noted  cutter  and  maker),  I  wondered  that  the  whole 
family,  instead  of  being  mainly  gaunt,  did  not  all  look  like 
rotund  stall-feds,  and  that  I  constantly,  if  vaguely,  expected 
somebody  from  somewhere  to  come  and  fatten  on  this  ex 
uberant  fecundity.  And  sure  enough  they  did. 

Even  if  I  knew  the  precise  ages  of  the  members  of  this  ex 
cellent  family  at  this  period,  there  are  reasons  why  I  should 
not  tell ;  not  that  the  two  oldest  would  have  objected  to  the 
revelation,  but  there  are  proprieties  in  cases  of  unmarried 
persons  who  have  so  remained  for  other  reasons  than  that 
of  extreme  youth,  throughout  a  somewhat  extended  period, 
that  ought  to  be  and,  so  far  as  I  am  concerned,  will  be  re 
spected.  I  pass  on,  therefore,  at  once  to  the  Pringles. 
« 

II. 

If  anybody  ever  did  know  a  more  shiftless  set  than  the 
Pringles,  he  must  have  been  a  traveller.  They  lived,  such 
living  as  it  was,  in  a  log-cabin  belonging  to  the  Wimpy s, 


THE    WIMPY    ADOPTIONS.  249 

situate  near  the  junction  of  the  public  road  with  that  lead 
ing  from  their  place.  Being  nearer  to  these  good  people 
than  anybody  else,  it  was  some  relief  to  them  when  Mrs. 
Pringle  died  and  Mr.  Pringle  was  gotten  away.  Their 
children — Jesse,  ten,  and  Milly,  six  years  old — could  then  be 
taken  care  of  with  less  trouble  and  expense  than  the 
whole  family  had  inflicted  heretofore.  Miss  Faithy,  never 
laying  claim  to  be  an  uncommonly  charitable  person,  had 
fed  and  scolded,  scolded  and  fed  these  imbeciles  ever  since 
they  had  been  dropped  there  whence  nobody,  I  believe, 
ever  knew  ;  and  when  the  children  had  been  left  mother 
less,  she  said  to  her  brother, 

"  Lawson,  it's  thes  like  they  was  two  suckin'  calves,  with 
a  dead  mammy  an'  a-belongin'  to  nobody  ;  er  ef  so  be, 
their  owner  won't  acknowledge  'em.  But  it's  not  goin'  to 
do  for  'em  to  per'sh  thes  so ;  fer  the  good  Lord  never  wants 
sech  as  that,  when  it  can  be  holp.  Ef  the  Alfords  would 
take  'em,  or  ef — but  no  use  of  effivt  about  it.  They're 
nigher  to  us  than  anybody  else,  an'  we've  had  'em  to  feed 
tell  now,  anyhow,  an'  I  don't  know  as  we've  missed  or  ben 
much  worst  off  fer  doin'  of  it.  Me  an'  you,  it  seem  to  me, 
will  thes  have  to  take  'em,  a  prewidin'  that  Sol  Pringle  will 
take  hisself  off,  as  my  opinions  is  he'll  be  ready  an'  willin' 
enough  to  do.  You  can,  as  it  were,  ruther  adap'  that  Jes', 
an'  me  po'  little  Milly,  or  we  can  adap'  'em  both  j'intly ; 
that  is,  of  cose,  tell  they  old  enough  an'  big  enough  to  help 
theirsclves.  It  won't  do  to  turn  'em  out  thes  so  in  the 
howlin'  wilderness.  It'll  be  a  trouble  ;  but  it  seem  like  a 
jooty  which  a  body  can't  dodge,  an'  maybe  we  won't  go 
'ithout  a  award  some  time  er  another  ef  we  don't  try  to 
dodge  it." 

Her  brother,  as  she  knew  he  would,  after  solemn  deliber 
ation,  yielded  to  the  proposal. 


250 


THE    WIMPY    ADOPTIONS. 


Mr.  Solomon  Pringle,  in  spite  of  appearances,  had  always 
spoken  of  himself  as  a  person  of  lofty  aspirations,  which, 
but  for  the  incumbrance  of  wife  and  children,  he  believed 


MR.   SOLOMON    PRINGLE. 


could  achieve  eminent  success.     He  gave  a  resigned  assent 
to  the  Wimpy  proposal,  that  included  his  own  perpetual 


THE    WIMPY    ADOPTIONS.  251 

withdrawal  from  the  neighborhood,  but  he  stipulated  that 
he  should  not  be  hindered  from  sending  to  them  such  por 
tions  of  his  achievements  elsewhere  as  his  parental  affection 
might  urge.  He  shook  hands  all  around,  admonished  his 
children  to  remember  his  precepts  and  continue  to  be  good, 
accepted  silently  the  money  given  by  Miss  Faithy  for  his 
household  goods,  apprized  at  double  their  value,  then  cheer 
fully  departed  westward. 

These  things  occurred  shortly  after  Mrs.  Copelin,  having 
nowhere  else  to  go,  had  returned  to  the  home  of  her  youth. 
She  did  not  heartily  approve  the  advent  of  the  orphans, 
and  suggested  the  trouble,  expense,  and  scarcity  of  room  ; 
but  her  sister  answered  decisively  that  they  would  come. 
As  for  the  expense,  they  would  be  expected,  when  old 
enough,  to  work  like  the  rest  of  the  family ;  as  for  room, 
the  boy  could  have  a  trundle-bed  in  Lawson's  shed,  and  the 
girl  sleep  with  herself;  and  as  for  the  trouble,  whoever 
counted  upon  living  without  some  trouble  in  this  world 
must  have  read  the  Bible  to  not  very  much  purpose  ;  and 
that  as  for  herself,  she  believed  that  less  trouble  would  be 
in  taking  than  in  turning  backs  against  them  that  it  did 
seem  the  good  Lord  had  placed  in  the  very  path  a  body  was 
treading.  So  they  came,  and  if  they  did  not  improve,  my, 
my! 

"  It  nately  did  do  a  body  good,  Betsy,"  said  Miss  Faithy 
to  Mrs.  Keenum,  some  time  afterwards,  "  to  see  how  the  po' 
little  things  did  eat  an'  th'ive  on  it.  People  can  see  for 
theirselves  the  creases  they  come  with  in  their  jaws  has 
goned  cleaned  away,  an'  their  stomachs  well  as  their  jaws 
shows  what  a  plenty  of  clean  victuals  an1  washin'  reg'lar  do 
for  them  that  was  a  per'sh'n'  an'  thes  a-rollin'  in  the  dirt. 
An',  bless  you,  'oman,  I  wer'n't  a-countin?  on  the  comp'ny 
they  is ;  which  Lawson  is  not  a  talkin'  person,  an'  Creecy 


252  THE    WIMPY    ADOPTIONS. 

let  on  mostly  what  she  learnt  bein'  a  married  person,  that 
ain't  interestin'  to  me  as  them  children,  that  they'll  talk 
everlastin',  an'  'special'  that  Jes,  which  he'll  rattle  on  tell  the 
cows  come  home,  ef  you  want  him.  But  they're  biddable 
little  creeters,  an'  'pear  like  goin'  to  be  industr'ous.  Thes 
betwix'  us,  I  were  little  afeard  at  the  first  off-start  that  that 
Jes  might  take  too  much  to  lovin'  bee-huntin' ;  not  I  got 
anything  agains'  bees,  thes  so ;  but  we  has  now  fourteen  or 
fifteen  gums,  an'  more  honey  than  we  know  what  to  do 
with,  an'  the  huntin'  an'  takin'  o'  bee-trees  ain't  what  I 
should  call  the  industrest  an'  ekinomic'lest  practice  fer  a 
boy  that's  got  nothin'  an'  expects  to  have  nothin'.  But — 
an'  oh  it  was  right  funny  ! — the  first  time  he  went  with  Law- 
son  to  a  takin',  he  dis'membered  what  Lawson  told  him 
about  dodgin'  the  things  'stid  of  fightin'  'em,  an'  they  got 
at  him  so  that  Lawson  sent  him  straight  back  home,  an' 
that  boy  say  he  got  no  stomach  for  that  business  no  more. 
But  Milly — well,  a  body  wouldn't  o'  believed  it,  but  noth 
in'  please  her  like  follerin'  Lawson  up  an'  down,  fishin'  an' 
bee -takin',  an'  Lawson  say  she  no  more  'fear'd  of  a  eel  or 
a  bee  then  him.  It  actuil  seem  like  Lawson  have  a-dap' 
Milly  'stid  of  Jes.  Well,  them  little  things  'livens  up  the 
house  more  than  a  body  could  of  expected,  'special'  me  an' 
Lawson.  Even  Creecy  got  more  riconciled  to  'em,  'special' 
sence  she  see  how  willin'  they  is  to  wait  on  her.  They 
isn't  no  tellin',  cose,  not  this  soon,  what  the  upshot  of  it'll 
all  be ;  but  I  ken  not  but  hopes  the  good  Lord  '11  let  some 
good  come  out  of  it,  for  it  do  'pear  like  He  put  'ern  on  us. 
Lawson  say  he  hain't  a  doubts  of  that" 

The  years  that  elapsed  until  Jesse  was  nineteen  and  Milly 
fifteen  had  seemed  to  establish  that  it  was  a  blessing  to 
them  to  have  been  orphaned.  Their  gratitude  had  been 
evinced  by  strict  obedience  and  the  faithful  performance 


THE    WIMPY    ADOPTIONS.  253 

of  all  tasks.  Jesse,  fully  grown  in  stature,  was  a  stalwart, 
right  handsome  fellow,  and  was  now  general  manager  of 
plantation  affairs,  the  thoughtful  habits  of  Mr.  Wimpy  hav 
ing  grown  more  and  more  settled.  Hilly  was  rather  under- 
grown  for  her  age,  but  round  and  plump,  and  in  her  way 
as  industrious  and  as  useful  as  her  brother.  She  helped  to 
make  clothes  for  the  family  and  outsiders.  She  ironed 
delicate,  fragile  garments  with  a  nicety  that  Miss  Faithy 
declared  superior  to  her  own,  owing,  Miss  Faithy  argued,  to 
her  having  such  little  hands.  Yet  those  same  hands  could 
work  up  as  nice  a  pat  of  butter  as  was  ever  put  into  a 
bucket,  and  set  at  the  mouth  of  that  spring;  and  if  it  is 
necessary  to  say  any  more  on  that  subject  than  that,  I 
know  not  what  it  is.  Although  she  had  given  up  follow 
ing  Mr.  Wimpy  in  his  sylvan  pursuits  when  Miss  Faithy 
considered  that  they  were  less  suited  to  her  age  and  sex 
than  those  appertaining  to  the  house  and  yard,  yet  occa 
sionally,  when  work  at  home  was  not  pressing,  or  it  was 
thought  that  she  needed  the  recreation,  she  would  wander 
with  him  on  fine  days,  and  be  as  docile  as  he  could  wish 
to  his  lessons  on  the  mild  mysteries  of  the  woods  and 
streams. 

Of  education,  two  whole  years,  counting  up  all,  had  they 
gotten.  The  good  people  who  had  taken  them  in  their 
destitution  had  reason  to  be  a  little  proud  of  the  results. 

"  That  Jes,"  Miss  Faithy  would  say  sometimes,  "  he  can 
fill  a  whole  slate  that  full  of  figgers  that  Lawson,  an'  Law- 
son  were  always  called  good  at  them — even  he  say  that  same 
Jes  can  work  a  sum  in  intrust  in  more  ways  an'  longer 
ways  than  he  43ver  learnt.  Now  as  for  Milly,  she  mayn't 
have  the  head  for  actuil  figgers  like  Jes;  but,  Betsy  Kee- 
num,  you  try  to  fool  that  child  in  the  countin'  o'  what 
things  will  come  to !  An'  she  write  a  handwrite  another 


254  THE    WIMPY    ADOPTIONS. 

sort  to  me  or  Creecy  other,  an'  she  can  bound  an'  tell  capi 
tals  to  that,  that  sometimes  I  thes  love  to  set  an'  hear  how 
she  do  Denounce  them  names  in  jography,  an'  which  some 
of  'em  I  do  think  on  my  soul  they're  the  outlandishest. 
Ah,  well,  people  oughtn't  to  brag ;  but  it  ain't  ev'rybody's 
childern,  an'  them  of  their  own  flesht  an'  bloods,  that  is  so 
very  far  ahead  of  them  childern,  an'  the  good  Lord  know 
ef  we've  missed  what  we  tried  to  do  fer  'em,  me  an'  Law- 
son,  we  don't  know  it.  Creecy — but  Creecy  have  been  mar 
ried  onct,  you  know,  an'  I've  notussed — not  you,  Betsy, 
for  marryin'  never  made  you  that  kind — but  it's  cur'us  how 
marryin',  an'  'special'  them  that  has  come  to  be  widders, 
can  lay  seek  a  stow  on  what  they  know  more  than  me,  which 
have  kept  singuil  an'  would  do  it  forevermo',  rather  than 
take  up  with  sech  as  Red  Copelin ;  but  which  he's  dead 
an'  goned,  an'  I  got  nary  word  to  say  agin  him.  But  Cree 
cy  let  them  childern  wait  on  her,  coold  an'  calm  ;  an'  ef  they 
was  to  leave  that  house,  she  mayn't  know  it,  but  I  do,  she'd 
miss 'em,  an'  'special'  that  Jes,  which  it  look  like  she  never 
git  tired  callin'  on  him  for  one  thing  an'  another,  an'  he's 
thes  as  obleegin'  as  if  he  belonged  to  her." 

Within  the  last  year  or  so  Mrs.  Copelin  had  seemed  to 
have  become  fully  reconciled  to  the  presence  of  the  or 
phans,  especially  the  male,  calling  him  "  Jesse  "  instead  of 
"  Jes,"  and  being  condescending  and  polite  to  him  to  a 
marked  degree.  Her  brother  and  sister  had  been  called 
"Uncle"  and  "Aunt"  from  the  beginning,  but  she  had 
shown  to  the  comers,  in  a  manner  that  meant  insistence, 
the  wish  to  be  addressed  as  "  Miss  Creecy  ;"  for,  ever  dur 
ing  her  widowhood  she  had  felt  and  believed  that  she 
looked  much  younger  than  she  was.  Satisfied  that  if  she 
should  have  the  opportunity,  she  could  make  more  out 
of  some  man  than  had  been  possible  with  the  material  of 


THE    WIMPY    ADOPTIONS.  255 

her  late  husband,  she  had  been  surprised,  and  to  some  de 
gree  disgusted,  that  such  opportunity  had  not  presented 
itself.  The  late  increased  cordiality  between  her  and  Jesse 
began  to  be  remarked  by  Mr.  Lawson  and  Miss  Faithy  ;  but 
they  were  not  people  to  meddle  in  matters  that  they  knew 
it  was  not  their  business  to  control.  Lately,  also,  a  nearly 
grown  boy  named  Joshua  Perkins  had  been  coming  to  the 
house,  and  more  often  than  he  had  been  coming  before  the 
happening  of  an  occurrence  in  which  the  family's  feelings 
somewhat,  Miss  Faithy's  considerably,  had  been  hurt.  Si 
mon,  the  foreman,  one  morning  at  daybreak  noticed  a  brin- 
dle  dog  sneaking  from  the  sheep  pasture,  wherein  was 
found,  immediately  thereafter,  a  favorite  ewe  and  her  lamb 
that  had  been  killed.  On  Simon's  testimony  that,  as  well 
as  he  could  judge  with  what  light  the  dawn  shed,  it  was 
Josh  Perkins's  "  Watch,"  Miss  Faithy  sent  a  request  to 
Josh  to  have  the  dog  killed. 

"  My  goodness  alive  !"  exclaimed  Josh,  "  the  whole  neigh 
borhood's  full  o'  brindle  dogs.  Got  two  over  thar  yourselves." 

"  And  Josh  Perkins,  he  thes  'fused  to  kill  the  varmint," 
said  Miss  Faithy  to  her  brother. 

"  Oh,  well,  Sis'  Faithy,"  he  answered,  "  you  know  'twere 
'nigger  everdence,'  an'  that  not  downright  pine-blank." 

Miss  Faithy  usually  followed  her  brother's  judgment  when 
she  had  appealed  to  it,  and  so  the  matter  was  dropped.  But 
when  the  youth's  visits  began  to  be  more  frequent  than  be 
fore,  the  good  woman's  mind  took  on  an  anxiety  that  she 
had  never  expected  to  feel. 

III. 

Mr.  Lawson  Wimpy  has  not  been  made  very  prominent 
in  this  history  thus  far.  Indeed,  he  never  became  so  except 
in  cases  which  Miss  Faithy,  the  head  of  the  family,  regarded 


256  THE    WIMPY    ADOPTIONS. 

too  emergent  for  her  individual  control.  During  nine  years 
he  had  pursued  calmly  the  career  that  seemed  to  befit  his 
meek,  unambitious  spirit.  His  interest  in  his  favorite  pur 
suit  had  received  something  of  an  additional  spur  during 
the  period  that  little  Milly  used  to  accompany  him ;  for  we 
all  have  seen  that  the  presence  of  childhood,  especially 
young  girlhood,  innocent  and  dependent,  serves  to  add  ac 
tivity  to  the  gait  and  impart  some  juvenility  to  the  heart 
of  a  man  who  otherwise  might  grow  old  faster  than  his 
years.  After  her  withdrawal  for  the  purpose  of  learning 
and  taking  becoming  interest  in  things  suited  to  her  sex,  a 
change  very  gradually  came  over  him.  Not  that  he  gave 
up  his  piscatory  habits  or  his  bee-huntings  to  any  very 
marked  degree  ;  for  Lawson  Wimpy  was  an  honorable  man, 
and  one  that  always  had  wished  to  be  consistent  and  true 
to  his  loves  and  duties.  Many  a  time  had  he  acknowledged 
that  it  was  his  nature,  and  he  couldn't  help  it,  to  love  a  bee ; 
and  it  was  one  of  his  few  boasts  that  not  many  people  ever 
took  a  bee-tree  or  a  bee-gum  with  less  sacrifice  of  life  than 
himself,  or  left  to  those  industrious  insects  more  liberal  al 
lowance  of  the  booty  for  which  they  were  besieged.  He 
would  go  so  far  sometimes  as  to  say  that  it  was  a  duty 
that  people  owed  not  only  to  themselves,  but  to  bees  them- 
selves,  to  tame  them  out  of  their  savage  state,  and  reduce 
them  from  the  wild  tree  to  the  peaceful  gum,  for  that  such 
reduction  made  them  not  only  more  useful,  but  more  happy. 

"  My  bees  knows  me  well  as  they  know  theirselves ;  an' 
my  opinions  is  they  not  only  satisfied  but  riconciled  to 
ruther  bein'  thar  than  in  anybody's  woods,  makes  no  odds 
whose  woods  they  is." 

In  the  abstract,  therefore,  he  was  little  changed,  if  any. 
Yet  within  a  year  or  so  last  past,  his  wanderings  from  home 
were  less  frequent,  less  distant,  less  protracted.  More  than 


THE    WIMPY    ADOPTIONS.  257 

had  been  his  wont  ever  before,  he  sat  in  or  about  the  house, 
and  rendered  help  whenever  needed  and  becoming  in  the 
house  tasks  of  the  ladies,  such  as  filling  quills  for  their  spin 
dles,  reeling  their  brooches,  winding  their  balls,  warping  their 
hanks,  handing  their  threads,  and  threading  their  sleighs. 
Such  services  and  similar  were  given  especially  to  Milly, 
needful  as  the  child  was  of  what  helps  she  could  get. 
Often  when  Miss  Creecy  would  call  upon  her  for  a  gourd 
of  water  from  the  spring,  he  would  go  for  it  in  her  place, 
and  that  made  such  calls  come  at  more  reasonable  intervals. 
His  favorite  seat  outside  of  his  dwelling  was  on  a  bench 
beneath  a  large,  wide-spread  sweet-gum  that  stood  near  the 
margin  of  the  stream  below  the  spring.  Here  for  many 
years  in  suitable  seasons  he  had  been  used  to  sit  with  face 
directed  towards  the  adjoining  woods,  and  watch  the  bees 
as  they  came  to  drink.  Lately  he  had  been  conscious  of 
feeling  less  lively  interest  in  the  thoughts  that  hitherto  had 
occupied  him  mainly  when  in  this  quiet  retreat,  but  he  had 
not  spoken  of  the  change  to  anybody,  not  even  to  himself ; 
and  he  had  been  thinking  if  it  would  not  be  well  to  rouse 
himself  from  this  incipient  supineness.  One  afternoon  as 
lie  sat  at  this  accustomed  seat  with  a  sense  of  something 
like  revived  interest  in  what  used  to  be  so  dear,  Joshua 
Perkins,  who  had  asked  for  him  at  the  house,  proceeded  to 
the  spring.  They  had  barely  saluted  when  the  visitor, 
seating  himself,  said  abruptly,  but  with  evident  embarrass 
ment, 

"  Mis'  Wimpy,  come  to  ast  might  I  cote  Miss  Milly,  sir." 
Mr.  Wimpy,  not  given  to  starting,  did  not  then.  Looking 
at  Josh  for  possibly  half  a  minute,  he  turned,  and  for  some 
moments  contemplated  the  spring,  and  for  some  more  the 
adjacent  woods  over  as  large  a  part  of  the  circle  as  his  eyes 
could  range  without  shifting  his  position,  after  which  he 


258  THE    WIMPY    ADOPTIONS. 

rose,  and,  turning,  looked  up  the  hill  towards  the  house. 
Then  he  walked  several  times  the  length  of  the  bench  on 
either  side,  closely  scrutinizing  Josh,  back,  front,  sidewise. 
After  several  minutes  he  resumed  his  seat,  and 'said, 

"  Josh  Perkins,  who  you  say — that  is,  you  said  anything 
to  Milly  ?" 

"  No,  sir,  I  has  not." 

"You  has  not?" 

"  No,  sir  ;  not  nary  word." 

"  I  would  of  supposened  not,"  rather  as  if  soliloquizing, 
"  bein'  as  she  have  only  thes  here  a  while  back  drap  her 
pant'letts,  an'  him,  I'll  lay  a  jug  o'  honey,  not  cut  nary  one 
o'  his  wisdom-tooths."  Then  he  asked,  very  pointedly, 

"  What  you  come  to  me  'bout  it  for,  boy  ?" 

"  I  hear  Missis  Keenuin  say  that  she  have  heerd  Miss 
Faithy  say  nobody  needn't  ever  go  'bout  co'tin'  Miss  Milly 
'ithout  they  first  git  the  fambly's  permissions." 

"  Well,  my  friend,  did  Missis  Keenum  tell  you  Miss 
Faithy  was  me,  or  that  the  fambly  was  me?  Ef  so,  she 
were  slight  rnistakened." 

"  No,  sir ;  oh  no,  sir ;  no,  sir,"  Josh  answered,  quickly, 
regretful  for  the  possible  mistake  that  had  been  made  as  to 
Mr.  Wimpy's  identity. 

"Of  course  Missis  Keenum — leastways  I  s'pose  she  did, 
an'  so  did  I,  she  know  you  bein'  of  a  man  person  an'  the 
heads  o'  the  fambly — " 

"  Now,  boy,  stop ;  stop  right  thar.  I  no  sech  a  heads, 
an'  I  got  nothin'  to  do  'ith  —  'ith  nobody's  co' tin's ;  an' 
'special'  childern's.  I  got  nothin'  to  say,  an'  I'm  busy  this 
evenin',  ef  that  all  what  you  come  to  see  me  about." 

"  Well,  good-evenin',  Mr.  Wimpy.  Glad  you  got  nothin' 
agin  me.  Hoped  you  didn't." 

"  You  knowed  I  didn't.     Good-by." 


THE    WIMPY    ADOPTIONS.  201 

After  the  youth  had  gone,  and  while  Mr.  Wimpy  was 
marshalling  the  thoughts  that  were  now  on  his  mind,  an  in 
cident,  regarded  by  him  ever  afterwards  more  strange  than 
any  other  throughout  his  whole  history,  occurred.  A  bee, 
fierce,  swift  as  a  bullet,  came  butting  him  plump  in  the 
forehead,  then  rebounding,  sought  the  streamlet.  After  he 
had  taken  his  fill,  he  rose  again  and  made  for  his  lair.  Mr. 
Wimpy  knew  from  his  line  that  it  was  a  new  bee.  I  say 
not  what  that  man  would  have  done  a  year  ago.  He  rose 
indeed  with  momentary  alacrity,  and  noted  with  old-time 
precision  the  retiring  beast. 

"  You  little  cuss,  you  !  It  were  ruther  the  impidenst  dar' 
I  ever  got  from  any  o'  your  tribes ;  but — no,  I  got  no  time 
to  be  fool  in'  'long  of  you  now.  You  go  to  grass." 

Now,.why  had  he  not  time?  He  sat  down  again  and 
asked  himself  that  very  question.  The  days  were  in  the 
very  solstice  of  summer;  the  wheat  had  been  harvested. 
They  were  nearly  through  with  reaping  the  oats;  hardly  a 
bunch  of  grass  was  to  be  seen  in  the  cotton-patch ;  the  field 
peas  were  up  and  doing  splendidly,  and  the  corn  would  get 
its  laying  by  ploughing,  and  without  need  of  haste,  inside 
of  a  fortnight.  For  some  time  he  continued  to  investigate 
himself.  His  sister  Faithy  had  always  said  he  was  deep,  and 
he  knew  he  was.  But  the  bottom  of  those  profound  depths 
was  further  than  even  himself  had  known  or  suspected.  He 
rose  at  length,  and  without  intermission  of  his  soundings 
followed,  with  some  hesitation,  his  legs,  which  took  him  first 
to  the  wheat-field.  There,  mounting  on  the  fence,  he  whit 
tled  a  splinter  wrenched  violently  from  a  rail,  and  contem 
plated  for  a  minute  or  two  the  fattening  hogs  rioting  in  the 
good  gleanings.  Then  throwing  away  the  splinter  as  if  it 
were  a  thing  unclean,  he  shut  and  pocketed  his  knife,  and 
proceeding  to  where  they  were  at  work  among  the  oats,  he 


262  THE    WIMPY    ADOPTIONS. 

silently  took  from  Simon's  hands  his  scythe,  made  six  enor 
mous  swaths,  then,  handing  it  back,  returned  to  the  bench 
under  the  sweet-gum,  where  he  remained  until  called  for 
supper. 

"  What  did  Josh  Perkins  want  to  see  you  about,  Br'er 
Lavvson  ?"  asked  Miss  Creecy  at  the  supper -table.  "Did 
he  'poloo-ize  for  not  killin'  that  mean  doo-?  He  ouofht  to." 

I  rs  &  o 

"He  never  mention  dog  in  my  presence,  Creecy  —  not 
once't.  It  were  some  business  Josh  thought  he  had  with 
me,  but  he  found  he  were  mistakened." 

"  Somethin'  on  top  of  Br'er  Lawson's  mind,"  said  Miss 
Creecy,  when,  quite  earlier  than  usual,  he  had  retired ;  "  he 
never  opened  his  mind  exceptin'  to  answer  my  question  the 
whole  night,  an'  not  answered  at  that;  an'  once't  when  he 
have  retched  for  the  biscuit,  he  come  mighty  nigh  a-dab- 
bin'  his  hand  in  the  honey-bowl." 

Miss  Faithy  had  noticed  the  unusual  absence  of  mind 
and  taciturnity,  but  had  thought  best  not  to  speak  of  it. 
Just  at  that  moment  his  voice  was  heard  from  the  door 
way,  and  if  rather  sepulchral,  yet,  after  giving  an  account 
of  the  remarkable  occurrence  at  the  spring,  extending  an 
invitation  to  Milly.  As  his  coat  was  off,  he  stood  in  the 
dark. 

"  From  the  size  of  the  lick  the  little  rascal  give  me,  I 
think  they  mus'  be  a  power  o'  honey,  an'  I  thought  Milly, 
ef  she  feel  like  it,  an'  can  spar'  the  time,  might  go  'long 
'ith  me." 

"  Law  me,  Lavvson,"  answered  Miss  Faithy,  "  the  whole 
back  g'yard'n  palin's  is  thes  linded  and  bounded  with  bee- 
gums  now." 

"Besides,"  put  in  Miss  Creecy,  "I  did  want  Milly,  if 
Sis'  Faithy  could  spar1  her,  to  begin  on  the  stitchin'  of  my 
new  petticoat  to-morrer,  Br'er  Lawson." 


THE    WIMPY    ADOPTIONS.  263 

"  Hold  on,  Lawson,"  cried  Miss  Faithy,  as  she  heard  him 
going  back — "  hold  on  ;  would  you  want  to  go,  Milly  ?" 

"  Yes'm,  if  Miss  Creecy  could  wait  for  the  beginning  on 
her  petticoat  till  I  got  back." 

"Yes,  Lawson.  Yes;  the  child  need  some  ex'cise,  any 
how." 

Miss  Creecy  thought  how  much  less  difficult  it  was  to 
get  service  from  Jesse  than  from  Milly.  But  she  did  not 
complain  in  words. 

"Go  'long  now  an'  enjoy  yourself  with  your  Unc'  Law- 
son,  an'  don't  git  stung  by  none  o'  them  bees,"  said  the 
good  Miss  Faithy  to  her  ward  the  next  morning. 

The  hunters  set  out  shortly  after  breakfast,  Mr.  Wimpy, 
besides  his  professional  tackle,  carrying  the  biggest  bucket 
for  the  spoil. 

"  Why,  Unc'  Lawson,"  said  Milly  from  behind,  when, 
after  a  momentary  glance  upward,  he  began  to  advance 
from  the  spring,  "  seems  to  me  you  took  mighty  little  sight 
ing  before  you  started." 

"  Never  mind,  Milly,"  he  answered,  without  pausing ;  and 
if  she  had  seen  his  eyes,  even  without  experience  in  wood 
craft,  she  would  have  known  that  their  uncertain  gaze  was 
not  apt  to  lead  to  a  place  that  very  careful  search  was 
necessary  to  find.  Not  only  this,  but  looking  not  fully  but 
somewhat  over  his  shoulder  as  he  leisurely  proceeded,  he 
chatted  with  her,  directing  his  remarks  mainly  to  the  fact 
that  it  was  an  uncommonly  fine  morning. 

When  they  had  travelled  near  half  a  mile,  they  reached  a 
small  knoll,  flat  at  its  summit,  whereon,  besides  towering 
oaks,  was  a  pretty  thicket  of  haw  and  crab-apple  trees.  At 
the  bottom  on  one  side  was  a  spring.  Here  Mr.  Wimpy 
came  to  a  stop,  and  they  sat  down  on  a  huge  log  that  lay 
there. 


264  THE    WIMPY    ADOPTIONS. 

"That  bee  belong  some'rs  about  along  in  here,"  said 
Mr.  Wimpy,  indifferently.  "  My  mind,  arfter  we  started, 
got  to  runnin'  on  my  parrents,  an'  it  ben  a-knowin'  it 
weren't  egzactly  follerin'  him  on  the  line  he  made.  Hovv- 
besomever." 

Drawing  from  his  pocket  a  small  gourd,  and  rinsing  it 
carefully,  he  dipped  from  the  spring  and  handed  it  to 
Milly. 

"  Well,  Unc'  Lawson !  a  better  gourd  of  water  I  never 
drank.  I  declare  it's  as  good,  I  do  believe,  actual,  as  our 
spring  at  home." 

"Thar  now!  I  knowed  she'd  be  obleeged  to  acknowl 
edge  it." 

And  he  laughed  as  a  man  laughs  after  winning  a  long- 
contested  dispute. 

"  Fact  o'  the  business  is"  he  said,  after  a  brief  enjoy 
ment  of  his  victory,  "  my  father  wanted  to  settle  right  thar 
whar  you  see  them  haws  an'  crab-apples,  an'  he  begun  on  a 
clerrin'.  But  my  mother  she  want  to  live  closeter  to  the 
road ;  an'  when  he  found  the  spring  we  has  at  the  present,  he 
let  her  overpersuade  him ;  but  he  allays  said  ef  Sis'  Faithy 
er  me  should  take  notion  to  take  other  kimpanions  an'  sip'- 
rate,  right  here  were  the  place  for  them  that  moved  away 
to  settle  theirselves ;  an'  so  the  queschin  in  them  ewents, 
not  a-counting  in  'Creecy,  which  have  had  her  sheer  —  the 
queschin  will  be  thes  betwix'  me  an'  Sis'  Faithy,  an'  it'll 
then  be  which  is  which.  Ahem  !" 

"  Law,  Unc'  Lawson  !"  exclaimed  Milly.  "  The  idea  of 
you  an'  Aunt  Faithy  a-separating !  I  never  dreamt  of  such 
a  thing,  excepting  one  of  you  was  to  die." 

Casting  his  eyes  into  the  forest  far  as  they  could  pene 
trate,  he  said,  mildly,  solemnly, 

"  They  is   sip'rations,  Milly,  an1  they  is  diwisions,  that 


THE    WIMPY    ADOPTIONS.  265 

people  ain't  allays  obleeged  to  die  before  they're  fotch 
about.  In  cose  Sis'  Faithy,  an'  'special'  me,  which  is 
younger'n  what  she  call  fer,  yit  she,  let  alone  me,  might  be 
counted  on,  by  good  rights,  to  live  fer  lo  those  many  a 
year.  I'm  not  talkin',  an'  I  don't  know  as  I  shall  ever  be 
talkin',  about  my  self,  though  I  don't  egzactly  say  them  words ; 
but  ef  Sis'  Faithy — mind,  I  say  ef,  Milly — an'  ef  she  was  to 
do  like  some  like  Creecy  expect  to  do,  an'  maybe  Jes,  for 
all  I  know,  then  an'  in  those  ewents,  when  Sis'  Faithy  have 
took  a  kimpanion,  the  queschin  in  that  solemn  hour  will 
be  thes  betwix'  Lawson  Wimpy  an'  his  lone  self,  an'  it'll 
be  what's  what,  thes  so,  pine-blank  an'  p'inted,  an'  nothin' 
else." 

He  then  turned  and  looked  Milly  in  the  face.  Now,  the 
fact  was  that  Mr.  Wimpy  had  not  the  slightest  suspicion  of 
any  wish  or  expectation  of  his  elder  sister  to  marry.  Later 
on  it  was  asked  him  how  it  had  gotten  into  his  head  thus 
to  frighten  a  timid,  dependent  child,  and  he  answered, 
coldly,  boldly, 

"  Instinc'.  'Tweren't  nothin'  but  instinc' ;  the  same  like 
what  a  bee  have." 

"  Oh,  Unc'  Lawson,"  said  Milly,  much  disturbed,  "  how 
can  you  think  such  things  about  Aunt  Faithy  ?  I  can't  be 
lieve — " 

"Ef  you'll  'member,  Milly,"  interrupted  he,  apparently 
cold  as  the  water  from  which  they  had  just  drunk,  "  that  I 
was  only  thes  a-supposen'  about  Sis'  Faithy,  an'  then  a-astin' 
o'  myself,  what  was  what  in  them  cases." 

Milly,  looking  back  with  some  anxiety,  said, 

"  Hadn't  we  better  go  back,  Unc'  Lawson,  sence  you 
missed  the  bee-tree  ?" 

"  Well,  maybe  yes,"  drawled  the  man,  with  an  uncon 
cern  that  seemed  perfectly  heartless.  "  Possible  we  well  go 


266  THE    WIMPY    ADOPTIONS. 

back.  I  hain't  give  up  that  bee,  howbesomever.  The  bee 
don't  live  can  give  me  sech  a  dar',  right  plump  in  the  for- 
rid,  an'  I  not  trace  him  to  his  den,  some  time  er  'nother 
when  I  in  qnindition  to  projeck,  as  I  knowed  I  weren't  to 
day.  Sis'  Faithy,  you  know,  Milly,  know  nothin'  o'  sech 
as  the  present  convisashin,  an'  onlest  you  think  it's  the  best 
to  tell  her  about  it — fer  in  things  that  is  both  dilicate  an' 
interestin'  at  the  same  times  it  mayn't  always  be  best ;  that 
is,  in  cose,  my  meanin's  is,  not  ontwell  they're  fotch  out  by 
the  warious  circum'ances  an'  sichiations,  so  to  speak;  ahem  ! 
we'll  perceed  on  back,  ef  you  ruther." 

"  Yes,  sir,  Unky ;  I  know  Aunt  Faithy  an'  Miss  Creecy 
needing  me  this  minute." 

Not  willing  to  return  entirely  empty,  and  as  the  season 
was  late  for  honeysuckles  and  jessamines,  Mr.  Wirnpy  would 
linger  to  gather  a  good  supply  of  red-buds,  sweet-bottles, 
and  Carolina  pinks. 

If  Miss  Faithy  had  been  in  laughing  mood,  oh,  how  she 
might  have  gone  on  at  sight  of  the  results  of  a  hunt  so 
boastingly  set  upon.  As  it  was,  the  returning  party  found 
her  in  the  act  of  applying  to  her  lips  the  blowing-horn. 
Laying  it  aside,  she  almost  pushed  Milly  into  the  house, 
saying, 

"  Go  in,  child ;  go  in  an'  try  to  prepar'  for  what's  a-com- 
in'."  Turning  to  her  brother,  she  said, 

"  Lawson,  my  gracious  me  !  Josh  Perkins  have  come  by 
here  on  his  way  from  town,  an'  he  bring  the  news  that  Sol 
Pringle  have  got  back,  an'  have' 'employed  lawyers  to  sue  fer 
Jes  an'  Milly,  an'  damidges  to  boot." 

"  The  everlastin' !  "  But  instantly  recovering  his  poise, 
he  took  his  sister  by  the  hand  and  led  her  to  the  spring. 
From  all  that  I  could  gather  of  the  talk  and  counsel  then 
and  there  had,  in  no  previous  family  emergency  had  more 


THE    WIMPY    ADOPTIONS. 


267 


earnest,  wise  thoughts  ascended  from  the  great  deep  of 
Lawson  Wimpy's  being.  Not  fully  comprehended  at  first, 
and  therefore  not  fully  satisfying,  yet  Miss  Faithy,  when 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  BEE-HUNTERS. 


she  rose  and  started  back  for  the  house,  felt  that  if  there 
was  nothing  else  for  an  unhappy  one   like   herself  to  be 


268  THE    WIMPY     ADOPTIONS. 

thankful  for,  she  ought  to  get  upon  her  knees  for  having 
such  a  brother. 

IV. 

The  head  of  that  family  used  to  declare  that  "tongue 
could  not  begin  to  tell  the  egzitements  of  that  night,  nor 
the  follerin'  day."  I  confine  myself  to  a  few  facts  and  con 
versations. 

The  subject  of  all  thoughts  was  not  one  for  discussion  in 
family  conclave.  There  were  some  points  that  had  been 
submitted  by  Mr.  Wimpy  at  the  spring  that  involved  deli 
cacy,  and  if  manageable  at  all,  would  be  managed  only  by 
talks  in  couples.  Jesse  and  Milly  had  their  talk,  so  Jesse 
and  Miss  Creecy.  Here  Jesse  showed  that  he  felt  himself 
to  be  a  man  with  a  man's  courage,  and  Miss  Creecy  said  that 
she  would  back  him  to  the  utmost.  A  brief  talk  Jesse  had 
with  Mr.  Wimpy,  in  which  each  hoped  he  understood  the 
other.  Poor  Miss  Faithy,  after  her  first  talk  with  her 
brother,  was  so  shaken  up  that  she  could  not  speak,  except 
mere  irregular  snatches  of  words,  first  to  one,  then  another. 
However  stirred  away  down  in  his  depths,  Mr.  Wimpy's 
surface  was  calm.  Just  before  retiring  he  said,  generally, 

"  If  Creecy  weren't  sech  a  rapid  rider,  I'd  be  willin'  fer 
her  to  git  on  Dolly  to-morrer  an'  go  to  town,  an'  ef  it 
took  a  day  or  two,  to  stay  thar  an'  gether  what's  to  be 
gethered  about  Josh's  news.  People  don't  know  how  to 
ack  tell  they  see  whar  they  stan\  But  Creecy  sech  a  rapid 
rider." 

Now,  Miss  Creecy  was  fond  of  going  to  town,  and  espe 
cially  on  her  brother's  riding  nag.  So  she  answered : 

"  Dolly  know  I  never  ride  her  to  hurt.  I'll  go  ef  people 
want  me." 

"Be  it  so,  then,"  said  Mr.  Wimpy,  in  quick  answer  to 
Miss  Faith v's  doubtful  look. 


THE    WIMPY    ADOPTIONS.  269 

They  retired  early.  After  weeping  in  each  other's  arms 
until  Milly  fell  asleep  from  exhaustion,  Miss  Faithy,  disen 
gaging  herself,  rose,  and  when  not  upon  her  knees,  paced 
the  hall  room  and  piazza  for  several  hours.  Occasionally 
she  tiptoed  to  her  chamber  door,  and  listened  as  if  to  be 
reassured  if  Milly  were  still  there  and  still  asleep.  At  length 
she  lay  down  again,  and  placing  one  arm  under  Milly's  neck, 
and  the  other  across  her  breast,  sank  into  the  sleep  that, 
in  spite  of  tribulation,  comes  to  the  good  and  charitable. 
Long  before  all  except  her  brother  had  awakened,  she  was 
up  and  dressed.  Approaching  softly  to  call  Mr.  Wimpy, 
he  issued  from  his  chamber,  with  face,  as  on  yesterday,  new 
ly  shaven  ;  and  if  that  man  ever  did  the  like  before  on  two 
consecutive  days,  nobody  ever  heard  of  it. 

"  Lawson,"  she  said,  in  subdued  but  resolute  tone,  "  I 
want  Storm  kep'  onchained  to-day,  an'  I  want  the  hounds 
to  stay  about  the  house." 

"Cert'nly,  Sis'  Faithy,  ef  you  say  so;  but  I  s'pose  people 
ought  to  know  that  dogs,  no  marter  how  bitin'  they  is,  can't 
thes  by  theirselves  keep  a'  officer  o'  the  law  off  a  place 
whar  the  jedge  send  him." 

"  I  know  that  well  enough ;  but  they  can  keep  off  rob- 
biers  an'  house-breakiers  untwell  people  can  gether  their 
senses  to  find  out  what  to  do." 

"What  I  told  you  yistiday,  Sis'  Faithy,  at  the  spring  is 
the  onlest  way  that  is  lawfuld  an'  effecuil.  Jes  an'  Milly, 
though  they  ain't  actual  childern,  what  people  call  chil- 
dern,  yit  they're  what  the  law  o'  Georgie  call  minders,  an'll 
be  minders  tell  they're  one -an'- twenty  apiece;  an'  Sol 
Pringle,  a-bein'  of  their  natchel  fathers,  can  lay  in  his 
claim  o'  titles  to  'em ;  a-thout  they  marries  theyselves  off, 
an'  in  which  ewents  them  titles  has  nother  law  ner 
gospil." 


270  THE    WIMPY    ADOPTIONS. 

Lord  Thin-low  could  not  have  laid  down  in  firmer  tones 
the  law  of  estoppel. 

"  But,  Lawson,"  Miss  Faithy  insisted,  "  in  the  name  o' 
goodness,  what  good  an'  what  consolation  to  me  would  be 
fer  Milly  to  git  married  an'  go  from  this  house ;  an'  as  fer 
Josh  Perkins,  which  you  say  he  want  her,  why,  the  child 
despise  Josh  Perkins  in  her  sight,  an'  she  say — ' 

"  She  do,  do  she  ?" 

"  Yes,  she  do ;  an'  as  fer  Jes  an'  Creecy,  Milly  say  she 
don't  believe  that  so ;  an'  ef  it  was,  that  no  business  o' 
mine ;  fer  you  know  how  hard  it  is  to  git  along  with  Creecy 
now,,  when  she  nothin'  but  a  widder,  an'  what  would  it 
be—" 

"  Say  Milly  don't  take  to  the  idee  o'  Josh  ?"  He  did  not 
appear  to  have  heard  his  sister's  last  remarks. 

"  No,  she  don't;  an'  she  say  she'll  thes  die  ruther'n  she'll 
other  have  Josh  Perkins,  or  leave  me  to  go  'long  with  her 
pa." 

"Don't  Milly  know  then,  Sis'  Faithy,  that  Josh  Perkins 
not  the  onlest  marry  in'  man-person  in  the  world?"11 

Mr.  Wimpy  looked  as  if  he  suspected  that  Milly  must 
have  taken  Josh  Perkins  to  be  Deucalion. 

"  I  don't  s'pose  she  do,  in  cose ;  but  the  child  nothin' 
but  a  child,  an'  her  head  not  been  runnin'  on  men,  an'  my 
laws !  when  she  were  a-layin'  on  that  bed  arfter  cryin'  of 
herself  to  sleep,  she  look  like  a  blessed  angel." 

"My,  my,  my,  my,  my!  That  don't  seem  to  do  then; 
an'  as  you  say,  Jes  an'  Creecy  a-jindin'  poplars,  even  ef  they 
did  jind  'em,  would  be  monst'ous  little  consolation  to  me 
an'  you.  An'  Jes  is  a — I  tell  you,  Sis'  Faithy — Jes  Prin- 
gle's  a  man,  an'  ef  he  have  the  chance,  he'll  take — I  come 
nigh  a-sayin' — he'll  take  his  place  among  the  people  o'  this 
whole  section  o'  country." 


THE    WIMPY    ADOPTIONS.  271 

"  What  is  to  be  done  in  sech  a  case  ?" 

"Sister  Faithy,  my  adwices  is  to  say  not  one  word  to 
nobody — not  untwell  Creecy  git  off  to  town,  an'  arfter  that 
fer  you  an'  Milly  to  have  a  talky-talky  betwix'  yourselves 
here  at  the  house,  an'  me  an'  Jes  will  go  to  the  spring. 
For  in  the  case  we  got  on  hand,  the  warious  seek  er  people 
can  talk  to  more  adwantages,  an'  'special'  on  subjecks  that's 
dilicate,  an'  skittish  to  boot ;  that  is  fer  a  while ;  an'  Milly, 
by  good  rights,  ought  to  try  to  find  out  that  they  is  in  cose 
other  an'  defferent  people  besides  of  Josh.  As  fer  Jes — Jes 
in  cose  know  his  own  mind.  Better  go  in  now.  I  hear 
'em  a-movin'.  Try  to  be  calm,  Sis'  Faithy,  an'  'special'  try 
to  be  coold." 

After  breakfasting  at  sunrise  (their  usual  hour),  as  Miss 
Creecy  was  mounting  upon  Dolly,  her  brother  said, 

"  Lemme  see.  This  is  a  Chuseday ;  I'll  look  fer  you  a 
Thursday  night,  though  I  has  my  doubts  ef  you  can  pick 
up  ev'rything  about  them  solemn  perceedances  before  a 
Friday.  But,  Creecy,  do. don't  ride  Dolly  too  rapid,  an'  ast 
Mr.  Leadbetter  to  see  that  she's  fed  an'  give  water  reg'lar. 
Howsomever,  good  man  like  him  won't  let  a  po'  beast  suf 
fer.  Good-by." 

The  auxiliary  influence  of  a  broom  in  her  hand  to  a  wom 
an  of  spirit,  when  feeling  that  she  has  been  treated  or  threat 
ened  wrongfully,  was  always  remarkable.  I  could  not  say 
how  many  times  in  imagination  Miss  Wimpy  swept  Mr. 
Solomon  Pringle  out  of  that  house  and  piled  him  up  in  a 
heap  on  the  ground  to  be  burned,  the  while  she  made 
Milly  sit  in  full  view  on  the  piazza.  Milly  looked  sad,  like 
the  daughter  of  Epimetheus  after  the  flood,  still  there  were 
signs  upon  her  face  of  innocent  hope.  Her  Aunt  Faithy 
was  too  full  for  much  utterance  beyond  frequent  painful 
ejaculations,  some  shorter,  some  longer  than  this : 


272  THE    WIMPY    ADOPTIONS. 

"  My  laws  of  gracious  mercies !  Ef  that  child  is  took 
away  from  me  it'll  thes  kill  me." 

When  not  another  speck  of  dust  was  to  be  seen,  still 
holding  her  broom,  she  took  Milly's  hand,  and  drawing  her 
up,  said, 

"  Come,  child,  less  go  to  the  spring  where  your  Unc' 
Lawson  is.  I  hope  to  the  good  Lord  Lawson  got  some 
senses  left.  I  hain't." 

Hand-in-hand  they  set  out.  As  soon  as  they  appeared 
Jesse  rose,  and  walking  rapidly  up  the  acclivity,  met  them 
under  a  white  oak  with  low-hanging  limbs. 

"  Milly,"  he  said,  "  Unc'  Lawson  want  to  talk  to  you  on 
some  partic'Iar  business.  I  don't  know  as  I  ever  thought 
as  much  o'  Unc'  Lawson  as  I  do  this  mornin'.  Aunt  Faithy, 
I  want  to  speak  a  few  words  to  you,  if  you  please, 
ma'am." 

His  face  was  flushed.  Miss  Faithy,  as  she  afterwards 
often  declared, "  thes  knewed  sornethin'  were  on  his  mind." 

"  Aunt  Faithy,  I  made  up  my  mind  not  to  go  with  pa 
no  more,  an'  I'm  a-goin'  away  from  this  place  'ithout  you 
say  I  sha'n't,  an'  that  is  ef  you'll  have  me." 

"  Have  what  ?"  she  gasped.  "  My  laws !  what  do  that 
Jes  mean  ?" 

"  I  mean  ef  you'll  have  me  for  your  husband,  to  love  you, 
an'  work  for  you,  an'  take  keer  of  you,  an'  fight  for  you, 
an'  die  for  you,  an'  do  everything  upon  the  top  o'  the  bless 
ed  ground  for  you." 

She  caught  with  one  hand  at  a  limb,  that  swaying  to  her 
pull,  it  looked  as  if  she  must  fall.  Jesse  was  extending  his 
hand  to  help,  when  she  instantly  recovered  herself,  and  rais 
ing  her  broom,  cried  in  a  tone  not  loud  but  most  threat 
ening, 

"You  Jes;  you  Jes  Pringle !  don't  you  put  them  hands 


THE    WIMPY    ADOPTIONS. 


273 


on  me.     Who  ?     What  put  that  in  your  head,  Jes  Pringle  ? 
Lawson  ?     I  didn't  think  Lawson  keered  that  little—" 

"  Aunt  Faithy,"  quickly  interjected  the  youth,  "  that  Unc' 
Lawson  didn't.     He  never  hinted  sech  a  thing !  an'  he  nev- 


;  YOU  JES  PRINGLE  !  DON'  YOU  PUT  THEM  HANDS  ON  ME.' 


er  dreamt  o'  sech  a  thing  tell  I  told  him  last  night.  I  ben 
a-lovin'  you  ever  sence  I  ben  here,  an'  a-wantin'  to  marry 
you  for  this  two  year  an'  better." 

"  Well,  I  always  did  believe  this  world  were  comin'  to  a' 


274  THE    AVIMPY    ADOPTIONS. 

end  before  people  was  a-calc'latin',  an'  now  it's  done  done 
it.  Bless  my  soul,  where's  Milly  ?  I  forgot  all  about  that 
child." 

"  Milly  down  at  the  spring,  settin'  by  Unc'  Lawson  under 
the  sweet-gum,  an'  ef  she  have  the  sense  I  think  she  have 
to  git  out  an'  keep  out  a  shower  o'  rain,  thar  whar  she  goin' 
to  stay  an'  settle  herself  a  endurin'  life." 

"What!  the  world  a-comiri'  to  a'  end  thar  too?  Jes 
Prino-le,  go  'long;  go  'way.  Don'  say  nothin'  more  to  me 
now,  boy.  I  got  no  senses  to  talk  back  at  you.  I'm  that 
'shamed  o'  myself  I  got  to  go  an'  hide.  What  will  Creecy 
say  ?  The  good  Lord  know,  I  thought  ef  it  were  anybody 
here  that  boy  were  that  foolish  an'  crazy  about,  it  were 
Creecy.  Go  'long,  Jes;  go  'way.  I  don't  say  go  clean 
away,  but  go  'long  off  som'rs  by  yourself,  an'  combit  your 
self  to  the  hands  of  the  good  Lord,  an'  ast  Him  to  let  you 
know  ef  you  in  your  senses,  er  ef  you  done  gone  ravin'  dis 
tracted." 

She  strode  on  to  the  house  weeping  and  striving,  but 
striving  in  vain,  not  to  look  back  at  the  lover  who  steadily 
followed. 

V. 

Betimes  the  next  morning  Jesse  Pringle  set  out  for  the 
county-seat  to  attend  to  a  little  matter  of  business  that 
Mr.  Wimpy  and  himself  thought  might  be  despatched  as 
well  now  as  later.  Not  very  long  after  his  departure,  Mr. 
Wimpy  made  a  brief  but  pleasant  visit  to  the  Rev.  Mr.  San- 
ford,  who  dwelt  near  by,  a  highly  respectable  and  much- 
beloved  minister  of  the  gospel.  The  visit  was  returned 
about  nightfall  on  the  same  day,  the  excellent  gentleman 
accompanied  by  Mrs.  Sanford  in  the  gig,  and  followed  by 
their  grown-up  son  and  daughter  on  horseback.  The  rest 


THE    WIMPY    ADOPTIONS.  275 

I  think  proper  to  let  be  told  by  Mrs.  Faitby  (nee  Wimpy) 
Pringle,  as  was  done  some  weeks  afterwards  to  her  friend 
Mrs.  Keenum. 

"  What  I  went  through  with  them  two  days  before  they 
was  wound  up  by  Br'er  Sanford  in  the  presences  of  them 
witnesses,  I  never  had  expected  sence  the  days  an'  hours  I 
was  borned.  Flustered  as  I  were  when  I  first  heerd  of  Sol 
Pringle's  comin'  to  claim  them  childern,  it  were  nowhars 
like  I  was  flustered  when  Jes  named  what  he  did ;  an'  I 
were  that  'shamed  an'  mad,  ef  I  had  of  had  my  strenkt, 
I'd  of  hit  him  with  my  broom,  which  I  were  holdin'  in  my 
hand  to  help  me  to  'fend  off  some  of  the  troubles  that  was 
on  me  about  the  losin'  of  Milly.  But  thar,  Betsy,  were 
whar  I  were  lackin'.  When  that  boy,  that  Jes,  fasten  them 
eyes  of  his'n  on  me,  an'  named  what  he  did,  Betsy,  Betsy 
Keenum,  I  were  that  weak  an'  that  charmed  that  it  wouldn't 
of  ben  defferent  ef  it  have  ben  a  rattlesnake ;  an'  it  struck 
me  suddent  as  thunder  that  I  loved  the  boy  and  didn't 
know  it,  an'  ef  I  had,  I'd  of  died  before  I'd  of  acknowl 
edge  it.  An'  then,  lo  an'  behold,  thar  was  Lawson  at  the 
spring  a-werryin'  Milly  thes  like  Jes  a-werryin'  me  under 
the  white  oak.  An'  Milly,  poor  little  thing,  she  helt  out 
an'  declar'd  she  thes  wouldn't  'itliout  her  Aunt  Faith y  say 
so,  an'  she  done  the  same  'ith  Jes.  An'  I  driv'  Jes  off,  an' 
Milly  she  runned  from  Lawson  ;  but  they  followed  us  plump 
in  to,  the,  very,  house.  An'  I  pleaded  an'  pleaded  'ith  Jes,  that 
ef  it  have  ben  the  will  of  the  good  Lord,  I  were  old  enough 
to  of  ben  his  own  lavvfuld  mother.  An'  Jes  he  come  back 
at  me  amejiaut,  an'  he  say,  that  as  sech  were  not  His  will, 
it  foller  as  a  natchel  conshekens  it  were  fer  me  to  be 
his  lawfuld  wife.  An'  Lawson  then  he  up  an'  say  he 
never  heerd  a  more  clinchiner  argiment  than  Jes  have  use, 
an'  that  he  have  me  whar  I  couldn't  cherrip.  An'  it  did 


276  THE    WIMPY    ADOPTIONS. 

look  like  the  boy  did.  An'  so  we  had  it  up  an'  down  all 
day  long,  Creecy,  she  gone  to  town,  an'  nobody  to  help  stop 
their  pessecntin'  untwell  finiul  me  an'  Milly,  to  get  some 
peace  in  our  mind,  we  thes  had  to  knock  under  an'  give 
our  consents.  An1  then  Lawson,  Jes  him  a-backin'  him 
up,  argy  that  we  well  have  the  business  settled  accordin'  to 
the  law  an1  the  gospil,  so  Creecy  could  git  riconciled  quick 
er  to  the  way  things  was  a-goin',  an'  Sol  Pringle  could  see 
for  hisself  that  as  for  his  claim  o'  titles  to  them  minder 
childern,  he  were  at  the  end  of  his  row,  an'  a-barkin'  up  the 
wrong  tree." 

The  bride  paused,  and  after  a  brief  rest  resumed : 

"  An'  yit,  ef  you'll  believe  me,  child,  a-notwithstandin'  all 
I  ben  through  before,  when  I  hear  Br'er  Sanford  an'  them 
a-comin',  an'  me  an'  Milly  settin'  thar  with  our  white  frocks 
on,  an'  what  few  taslets  we  could  getlier  up,  an'  Milly,  she 
were  coold,  same  as  a  cowcumber,  but  me  ! — Betsy  Keenum, 
I  were  that  'shamed  that  ef  it  have  ben  lavvfuld  an'  decent, 
I'd  of  not  let  Jenny  lit  candles,  but  of  ast  Br'er  Sanford  to 
pe'forrn  his  cer'monies  in  the  dark.  An'  I  do  think  he  use 
the  pootest  words  about  marryin'  bein'  honerble  an'  to  the 
app'intment  o'  Scripter.  An'  when  he  put  up  that  pra'ar  I 
couldn't  of  holp  from  cryin'  ef  I'd  of  ben  a-dyin'  'stid  of 
beginnin'  on  a  new  life." 

After  another  brief  pause  she  continued : 

"  But  I'm  thankful  that  before  so  very  long  I  got  another 
sort  more  riconciled  an'  compoged  in  my  mind.  An'  them 
come  quicker  when  Creecy  an'  Mr.  Pringle — look  like  they 
done  it  so  quick  to  spite  me  an'  Lawson — but  tell  you  the 
truth,  me  an'  Lawson  was  glad  when  they  married  suddent 
that  way,  because,  bein'  his  sons-in-law  and  daughters-in- 
law  both,  we  was  bound  to  support  him,  an'  we  settled  'em 
back  on  the  place  whar  we  give  Creecy  agin,  an'  it  'pear 


THE    WIMPY    ADOPTIONS.  277 

like  they  livin'  very  kintented  in  thar  mind,  a-knowin'  me 
an'  Lawson  not  goin'  to  let  'em  suffer.  Lawson  already 
a-buildin'  by  our  other  spring,  whar  he  showed  Milly  the 
very  mornin'  of  the  day  the  fracases  begun.  Oh,  he's  deep, 
Lawson  is !  Him  an'  Milly  calm  an'  gayly  as  two  young 
pullets,  or,  ruther,  him  bein'  a  man  person,  I'll  say  two 
young  kittens.  It  please  Lawson  an'  make  him  laugh  when 
Milly  ketch  him  by  the  jaw  an'  tell  him  she  wouldn't  want 
him  to  be  a  day  younger.  But  Jes  know  I  don't  want  no 
sech  talk  about  me.  Yit  Jes  good  to  me  as  he  possible  can 
be.  Ah,  well,"  she  ended,  wiping  her  eyes,  "  I  can  but 
hope  the  good  Lord  '11  send  His  blessin'  on  a  poor  sinner  in 
the  takin'  sech  a  venter  at  this  time  of  life.  He  know  how 
many  times  I  drap  on  my  knees  what  little  time  I  had  be 
fore  it  all  taken  place,  an'  He  know  what  my  daily  pra'ars 
is  now  to  the  thone  of  grace." 


THE  STUBBLEFIELD  CONTINGENTS. 


"  What  should  discontent  him, 
Except  he  thinks  I  live  so  long?" — DENHAM. 


MR.  MAPP  STUBBLEFIELD  and  his  sister  Cynthy  dwelt  to 
gether  at  their  hereditary  home  a  mile  north  of  the  village. 
Their  joint  estate  consisted  of  about  twenty  negroes,  five 
hundred  acres  of  land  on  this  and  three  hundred  on  the 
other  side  of  the  creek,  besides  plantation  stock  and  some 
money  at  interest.  The  smaller  tract  had  been  occupied  for 
some  years  by  their  cousins,  Mrs.  Polly  Stubblefield  and  her 
son  Wiley,  who  yet  owed  the  greater  part  of  the  purchase- 
money. 

By  the  last  will  and  testament  of  their  father  the  prop 
erty  had  been  bequeathed  to  Mapp  and  his  sister  jointly, 
with  right  of  survivorship  to  the  whole  in  the  event  of 
either  dying  without  issue ;  but  such  decedent  was  em 
powered  to  dispose  by  will,  and  not  otherwise,  of  his  or  her 
moiety  to  any  wife  or  husband  whom  he  or  she  might 
leave. 

Neither  the  brother  nor  the  sister  had  ever  been  entirely 
satisfied  with  the  terms  of  the  will.  Mapp,  who  from  early 
childhood  had  evinced  an  eager  love  of  ownership,  had 
been  heard  often  to  say  that,  being  the  younger  and  a  man, 
he  ought  to  have  been  left  over  half,  and  the  sole  manage- 


THE    STUBBLEFIELD    CONTINGENTS.  279 

ment  of  the  whole.  His  sister,  well  knowing  his  disposition, 
had  always  regretted  that  her  interest  had  been  complicated 
with  the  contingencies  annexed. 

They  were  very  unlike.  Mapp,  somewhat  under  middle 
height,  was  stout,  strong,  loud  and  voluble  of  speech,  and 
light,  sometimes  even^olly,  hearted.  Miss  Cynthy  was  rather 
tall,  spare,  taciturn,  and  of  late  habitually  pale.  He  was  far 
from  believing  such  a  thing,  yet  she  was  quite  superior  to 
him  in  understanding,  and  especially  in  intelligence.  Vis 
iting  little,  she  was  quite  a  reader  for  those  times  (forty 
years  ago),  while  he  had  gotten,  he  doubted  not,  a  far  greater 
wisdom  from  contact  with  the  world,  and  from  discussions, 
in  which  few  men  were  more  fond  to  indulge. 

The  one  intimate  friend  of  Miss  Stubblefield  was  her 
cousin  Mrs.  Polly.  With  her  she  spoke  occasionally  of  her 
conviction  that  her  brother  had  always  counted  upon  suc 
ceeding  to  the  whole  estate  with  an  eagerness  that  had  been 
ever  increasing,  and  becoming  more  and  more  painful  to 
her  to  contemplate.  In  her  young  womanhood,  now  more 
than  twenty  years  gone,  suspecting  the  purpose  of  the  fre 
quent  visits  of  a  young  man  named  Norris,  Mapp  had  treat 
ed  him  with  such  rudeness  in  her  presence  that  he  abruptly 
ended  his  attentions.  None  knew  whether  or  not  there  had 
been  any  affair  of  the  heart.  After  that,  young  men  seldom 
came  to  the  house,  and  the  few  who  did  were  known,  or 
confidently  believed,  to  be  without  matrimonial  intentions. 
Mapp,  especially  when  at  home,  habitually  spoke  of  marriage 
as  a  state  of  bondage  to  which  a  free  person  would  act  wise 
ly  to  not  become  subjected.  Not  that  he  did  not  pride 
himself,  when  in  society,  upon  his  gallantry  to  ladies. 

"Oh  yes;  oh  yes.  Nobody  love  fun  with  girls  more'n 
what  I  do.  But  marryin  Y  Ah,  that's  a  gray  hoss  of  an 
other  color,  you  know ;  an'  on  which  subjics  I've  got  yit  to 
18 


280  TOE    STUBBLEFIELD    CONTINGENTS. 

see  the  female  to  which  and  to  who  I've  said  even  the  word 
beans" 

Merry,  even  jocund,  as  he  could  be,  yet  he  was  liable  to 
subside  suddenly  into  great  depression.  A  severe  toothache, 
a  drought  in  summer,  an  alarmingly  grassy  cotton  patch,  the 
insolvency  or  absconding  of  a  debtor,  however  small,  was 
enough  to  bring  on  such  a  condition.  Never  what  might 
be  called  harsh  to  his  sister,  he  had  lately  been  growing 
quite  considerate  of  the  few  wishes  she  uttered.  This 
change  was  due  partly  to  what  he  seemed  to  believe  a  very 
rapid  decline  of  her  health,  caused  by  a  cough,  and  her  con 
sequent  increase  of  sadness,  that  gave  him  a  consciousness 
of  manful  and  brotherly  compassion  for  one  whose  few  and 
evil  days  appealed  for  support,  and  partly  to  the  fact  that 
he  was  beginning  to  revolve  upon  other  duties  that  he  owed 
possibly  to  society,  certainly  to  posterity.  He  had  even 
styled  himself  the  "residiary  legatee  o'  the  prop'ty,"  and 
now  when  the  contingencies  respecting  it  had  lapsed  into 
long-desired  certitude,  he  reflected  that  he  might  become 
even  somewhat  tender  with  one  whom  he  assumed  to  regard 
as  an  aged  invalid,  especially  in  view  of  the  fair  prospect 
that  was  now  to  open  before  his  own  robust,  perennial  youth. 

The  Pritchetts  dwelt  about  a  mile  away,  on  the  Polly 
Stubblefield  side  of  the  creek.  Miss  Lorinda  was  heiress- 
apparent  of  four  hundred  acres  of  land  and  ten  or  twelve 
negroes.  This  young  lady,  about  twenty  years  of  age,  stout, 
somewhat  commanding  of  presence,  though  quite  amiable, 
Wiley  Stubblefield,  now  in  his  twenty-fifth  year,  had  a  de 
cided  notion  to  marry.  What  might  have  been  done  in 
time  by  a  youth,  tall,  very  handsome,  industrious,  honorable, 
as  Wiley,  but  for  certain  accidents,  could  only  be  conject 
ured.  What  these  accidents  were  will  appear  from  the  fol 
lowing  conversation  between  him  and  his  mother: 


THE    STUBBLEFIELD    CONTINGENTS.  281 

"  And  you  say,  my  son,  the  widder  Flynt  have  fooled  your 
cousin  Mapp,  an'  he  have  sot  in  at  the  Pritchetts'  ?"  asked  the 
mother.  "  Um  hum  !  I  knowed  he'd  bait  his  hook  thar 
ef  the  tother  fish  'scaped  it,  and  ef  so  you  well  hang  up 
your  fiddle,  for  in  that  an'  which  ewents  old  man  Pritchett 
(an'  he's  head  thar,  cert'n  shore)  will  put  him  through. 
Made  out  like  he  was  tryin'  to  help  you?  Aha!  Jes'  the 
defference  between  him  an'  your  cousin  Cynthy,  an'  which 
she  have  too  much  sense,  an1  principle  too,  to  meddle,  or  'tend 
to  meddle,  in  sich  business.  Mapp  Stubblefield  think  he's 
pow'fnl  smart,  gittin'  fixed  up  at  last  in  them  calc'lations 
he's  been  makin'  all  him  and  his  sister's  life,  an'  a-always 
makin'  her  out  sickly,  an'  old  as  Merthooslum  to  boot,  an' 
which  he  know  to  be  to  the  contrary." 

"  How  old  is  Cousin  Cynthy,  ma?  Ever  since  that  time, 
away  long  ago,  when  I  accident'ly  called  her  Aunt  Cynthy, 
she  never  seemed  to  like  me  much." 

"  And  which  you  no  business  to  of  done,  because  them 
kind  o'  accidents  hurts  female  persons  just  as  bad  as  when 
they're  done  o'  purpose.  As  for  Cynthy's  age — Cynthy 
Stubblefield  never  made  a  practice  o'  goin'  about  noratin' 
about  my  age,  an'  I'm  not  a-goin'  to  do  deffernt.  But  she's 
young  compared  'ith  some,  an'  not  nigh  as  old  as  her  own 
brother  want  to  make  her  out,  he  know  for  why.  Ah,  law 
me !  But  it's  no  business  o'  mine,  and  you'll  find  that  the 
Pritchetts  no  business  o'  yourn." 

She  proved  to  have  been  a  true  prophet.  During  the 
fixing  of  the  preliminaries,  the  Pritchetts,  who  were  excellent 
people,  were  properly  touched  by  the  affectionate  manner 
in  which  the  suitor  spoke  of  his  poor  declining  sister. 

"  A-not'ithstandin'  I'm  to  be  an'  is  the  residiary  legatee 
o'  the  whole  prop'ty,  yit  I  can't  but  feel — ah  !  nobody  know 
how  /  feel — about  po'  sis'  Cynthy." 


282  THE    STUBBLEFIELD    CONTINGENTS. 

When  alone  with  his  sister  he  was  wont  to  speak  of  his 
approaching  marriage  as  a  mournful  duty,  in  order  to  hin 
der  the  property  from  descending  to  the  collateral  line — a 
result  which,  if  their  father  had  foreseen  it,  he  would  have 
grievously  deplored. 

"  I  like  Rindy,  brother,  and  hope  it  will  all  be  for  the 
best,"  said  Miss  Cynthy. 

"  It's  jest  obleeged  to  go  right,  sister,  'ith  them  that  love 
the  Lord." 

He  felt  suddenly  some  moisture  in  his  eyes  and  a  pleas 
ant  warmth  in  his  nostrils.  He  was  ever  fond  of  trying  to 
quote  Scripture,  especially  on  solemn  occasions,  and  now  he 
felt  that  he  was  as  affectionate  a  brother  as  any  aged,  sickly, 
forlorn  maiden  sister  ever  had. 

"  Poor  Wiley  !"  she  said,  after  some  moments  of  compas 
sionate  abstraction. 

"  Good  gracious,  laws  o'  mercy,  sister !"  he  answered. 
"  Wiley  !  I'd  V  never  put  in  thar  if—  Oh,  Wile  Stubble- 
field  ! — he  nothin'  but  a  boy.  Time  enough  for  him.  He'll 
do  well  in  time." 

"  I  suppose  so — at  least  I  hope  so,"  she  said,  languidly. 

II. 

The  wedding  and  the  infare  were  attended,  of  course,  by 
Wiley  and  his  mother.  The  latter,  plucky,  hearty,  indepen 
dent  woman  that  she  was,  enjoyed  everything.  Wiley  was 
somewhat  cool,  though  not  wanting  in  expressions  of  good 
wishes.  Such  a  disappointment  hurts  a  candid,  single-mind 
ed  youth  more  than  one  of  bolder  ambition.  Mr.  Pritchett, 
generally  rather  complaining,  had  now  his  jokes  and  pleas 
ant  prophesyings,  and  everything  passed  off  well.  After 
the  infare  the  newly  married  started  off  in  the  gig  on  a  tour 
(then  very  rare)  to  Augusta,  which,  with  its  five  or  six  thou- 


THE    STUBBLEFIELD    CONTINGENTS. 


283 


MAPP   AND   CYNTHY. 


sand  inhabitants,  was  the  pride  of  all  middle  Georgia  country 
folk.  Mr.  Stubblefield}  expensive  as  it  was,  acceded  to  his 
bride's  proposition  the  more  readily,  perhaps,  because  he 
prudently  thought  that  the  first  transports  of  the  enormous 


284  THE    STUBBLEFIELD    CONTINGENTS. 

happiness  lie  was  destined  to  impart  might  be  better  extend 
ed  over  a  wide  space  and  among  vast  multitudes  than  par 
taken  in  one  quiet  mansion,  and  witnessed  by  only  a  poor 
invalid. 

A  week  afterwards,  on  the  evening  of  the  return,  when 
they  were  a  few  miles  from  home,  the  bride  said, 

"  I'm  glad  sister  Cynthy  seem  so  friendly.  You  think 
she'll  like  the  present  I  bought  her,  Mr.  Stubblefield  ?" 

"Nary  doubt  about  that,  honey.  Sister  know  how  to 
knock  under  when  she  know  she's  obleeged  to." 

"  I've  often  wondered  why  such  a  smart,  good-looking 
woman  never  married." 

"My  goodness  gracious,  child!  in  them  ewents  I'd  V 
never  been  the  residiary  legatee  o'  the  prop'ty." 

"  Of  course  not." 

"Well,  that's  jest  what  I  never  wanted." 

A  sadness,  the  first  since  the  marriage,  came  over  the 
wife's  face,  which  the  husband  did  not  notice,  or  which  he 
ignored. 

"It's  jest  as  't  ought  to  be,  Rindy.  Jest  as  our  parrents 
would  of  wanted.  Sister  '11  be  all  right.  She  ain't  one  o' 
them  kind  that  jest  grabs  holt  an'  tells  people  how  she  love 
'em,  like  —  like  me,  aha  !  Go  'long,  Jim  ;  whnt  you  stop 
fur,  sir?  We'll  all  have  to  bar  an'  /<?rbar  fur  a  short  time, 
mo'  or  less,  when  the  prop'ty  '11  be  palmed  off  whar  it  be 
long.  Git  up,  Jim." 

The  travellers  were  welcomed  becomingly.  Mrs.  Stubble- 
field,  in  answer  to  questions,  enlarged  upon  the  greatness  of 
the  city,  the  crowds  of  people,  wagons,  and  other  vehicles, 
the  certainty  that  any  careless  person  would  be  crushed  in 
those  multitudinous  throngs,  and  (you  wouldn't  believe  it, 
but)  the  crossing  that  great  bridge,  and  taking  view,  brief 
and  hazardous  as  it  was,  of  the  strange  tribes  that  got  their 


THE    STUBBLEFIELD    CONTINGENTS.  285 

living  somehow  (goodness  knew,  she  didn't)  on  the  Caro 
lina  shore. 

"  An'  don't  3Tou  know,  sis'  Cynthy,  that  everybody  knew 
we  were  just  married  ?  /  said  'twas  because  we  looked  an' 
behaved  so  quare ;  but  Mr.  Stubblefield  said  them  Augusty 
people  know  everybody  the  minute  they  lay  eyes  on  'em." 

"  An'  you  -say,  Rindy,  your  nice  present  was  brother's 
choice  ?" 

"  Yes  indeed,  sister,"  said  Mapp.  "  I  thought  how  lone 
some  you  wuz,  an'  I  told  Rindy  I  knowed  you'd  ruther  have 
somethin' — ah — dilikit,  an' — ah — " 

"  Mourning,  eh  ?" 

"  Ne-o  ;  not  adzackly  moaram',  sister;  but — ah — dilikit — 
dilikit,  you  know,  sister." 

"Thank  you.     Very  kind  in  both — very  kind." 

When  they  were  in  their  own  chamber,  Mrs.  Stubblefield 
said,  "  I  told  you  I  didn't  think  she'd  like  that  frock  pattern 
an'  trimmings." 

"  Well,  well,  well,  with  her  bad  health,  an'  at  her  times  o' 
life,  I  should  supposen  she'd  be  a-reflectin'  that  death's  a 
molloncholy  sound,  as  the  hyme-book  say." 

"  Mis-ter  Stubblefield,  you  talk  like  sis'  Cynthy—  She 
may  outlive  you  and  me  both." 

He  stared  at  his  wife,  but  said  no  more  on  the  subject. 

Two  days  afterwards  Miss  Stubblefield  went  to  see  her 
cousin  Polly. 

"An'  how  do  they  'pear  to  start,  Cynthy?  Do  tell 
me." 

"Oh,  right  well,  Cousin  Polly — loving  as  usual;  particu 
larly  brother  Mapp,  though  he's  rather  serious  sometimes 
— for  him,  at  least.  I'm  going  to  love  Rindy.  Childish  as 
she  is,  yet  she's  considerate,  and  she's  straightforward,  which 
somehow  poor  brother  can't  be.  Think  he  didn't  make 


286  THE    STUBBLEFIELD    CONTINGENTS. 

Rindy  get  me  in  Augusta  a  mourning  frock  pattern  and 
trimmings !"  Then  she  smiled  faintly. 

"  My  goodness  gracious,  patience  everlastin'  me  !"  exclaim 
ed  Mrs.  Polly.  "Cynthy  Stubblefield,  it's  none  o'  my  busi 
ness,  but  /  should  let  people  know  that  I  weren't  nother  a 
widder  ner  a  old-fashioned  piece  o'  chainy  to  be  hid  away 
on  the  shelf;  not  ef  Polly  Stubblefield  know  herself,  she 
wouldn't." 

Notwithstanding  a  little  estrangement  between  Miss  Stub 
blefield  and  Wiley,  caused,  as  he  believed,  by  his  unfortu 
nate  remark,  yet  she  had  been  ever  an  indulgent  creditor, 
while  Mapp  had  exacted  considerable  yearly  payments  or 
excessive  interest.  The  society  of  the  two  ladies  must  now 
become  more  frequent  and  close,  when  one  must  bear  a 
sadder,  if  not  more  complaining,  part,  and  the  other  a  con 
soling  and  advisory. 

The  next  night  after  this  last-mentioned  visit  Wiley  said, 
"Ma,  coming  from  town  this  evening  I  saw  Cousin  Cynthy 
walking  in  the  road  by  the  gate.  She  looked  better,  and 
was  chattier,  than  I've  noticed  in  a  long  time." 

"  Did— did  you  ?     The  child's  blood's  up." 

Then  she  told  about  the  present,  and  hinted  her  belief 
that  Miss  Stubblefield,  in  her  opinion,  would  not  much  lon 
ger  brook  Mapp's  selfish  calculations. 

"  Ma,  you  don't  mean — " 

"  Yes,  sir,  but  I  do." 

i;  With  her  cough,  and  her  age  ?" 

"The  marryin'  o'  people,  Wiley  Stubblefield,  my  expe- 
unce  is,  don't  allays  'pend  on  thar  healths  ner  thar  times  o' 
life.  It  'pends,  my  expeunce  is,  on  a  powidin'  people,  two 
at  a  time — my  meanin's  is,  in  co'se — consatin'  they  ruther 
change  thar  kinditions  than  keep  single.  Cynthy  Stubble 
field  ain't  the  aigeable  person  Mapp  make  out.  An'  as  for 


THE    STUBBLEFIELD    CONTINGENTS.  287 

her  cough,  I've  knovved  warous  people  to  have  'em  a  con 
stant,  an'  yit  outlass  a  many  another  that  hadn't  ner  didn't : 
like  old  man  Lazenbeny,  an'  which  his  own  wife  told  me 
he  ofting  hacked  an'  racked  of  a  night  so  that  even  the 
dogs  couldn't  sleep,  an'  went  to  barkin'  an'  howlin',  an'  that 
for  fifty  year,  an'  he  retched  eighty-sebn.  An'  besides, 
Cynthy  told  me  herself  her  cough  were  a  heap  better;  an' 
I've  told  her  freckwent  it  were  jes'  a  habit  she  got  into  thar 
stay  in'  by  herself,  an'  ef  she'd  peruse  round  in  s'iety  like 
other  girls  she'd  git  over  it  intire.  Cynthy  know  well  as 
me  an'  you  what  Mapp  been  a-countin'  on,  an'  silent,  say- 
nothin'  person  as  she  is,  she's  the  smartest  'oman  I  know 
anything  about.  You  heerd  me." 

III. 

None  who  knew  the  Pritchetts  had  ever  even  dreamed 
that  the  wife,  who  was  many  years  younger  than  her  hus 
band,  would  decease  before  him.  Yet  this  event  occurred 
a  few  weeks  after  the  wedding.  The  daughter's  sorrow  was 
doubtless  the  sadder  from  remembering  that  her  mother, 
though  submitting  without  complaining  words,  had  not  fa 
vored  her  marriage.  Far  more  pronounced  were  the  lamen 
tations  of  the  father.  I  may  not  dwell  on  that  period 
wherein  the  stricken  widower  was  heard  to  cry  out,  time 
and  time  again, 

"  I  jes'  tell  you  what  it  is,  folks,  ef  thar's  anybody  can 
stand  sech  a  racket  always,  they  ain't  me  ner  I  ain't  them." 

Mr.  Stubblefield  made  every  effort  within  the  scope  of 
his  genius  to  comprehend  the  situation,  and  had  to  admit 
frankly  that  he  could  not.  Nigh  overwhelmed  by  such  a 
shock  upon  the  fitness  of  things,  yet  he  knew  he  had  du 
ties  to  perform,  particularly  to  his  desperate  father-in-law. 
At  first  Mr.  Stubblefield  endeavored  to  dwell,  and  did  dwell, 


288         THE  STUBBLEFIELD  CONTINGENTS. 

on  the  mercy  that  such  an  affliction  had  not  befallen  until 
now,  when  the  excellent  man  was  so  far  spent  in  years  that 
he  might  safely  hope  to  rejoin  his  beloved  companion  in 
a  very  short  time,  more  or  less. 

"  Law  bless  my  soul,  Mapp  Stubblefield !"  Mr.  Pritchett 
would  answer,  looking  with  wondering  face  at  his  con 
soler,  "  whut  —  whut  you  preachin'  sich  talk  as  that  to 
me  fer?" 

Mr.  Stubblefield  would  have  convinced  him  that  afflic 
tions  were  blessings  in  disguise. 

"Don't  b'lieve  'em.  Leastways  ain't  so  'ith  me.  May 
be  so  'ith  tother  people;  ain't  so  'ith  me,  cert'n  shore. 
Talk  'bout  my  jindin'  along  o'  Sooky  ?  In  co'se  I  want  to 
do  that,  an'  go  to  hebn  too,  when  the  time  come.  But  I 
ain't  ready  to  go  thai1  now,' Mapp  Stubblefield,  an'  I  ain't 
now  a-countin'  on  goin'  nowhars,  whar  I  got  to  die  befo'  I 
git  thar.  The  man  talk  to  me  like  he  done  got  his  lisons 
an'  gone  to  preachin',  like  I  were  a  Methooslum,  when  he 
know  my  wife  dyin'  were  a  accident,  an'  he  no  chicken  his- 
self.  The  good  Lord  !" 

Disappointed  in  arguments  from  so  high  authority,  Mr. 
Stubblefield's  fertile  mind  resorted  to  others  with  the  des 
perate  wailer.  Mr.  Pritchett  was  reminded  that,  at  all 
events,  if  he  had  lost  as  good  a  wife  as  any  man  or  any 
set  of  men  ever  had,  yet  that  in  the  very  nick  of  time,  so 
to  speak,  he  had  gained  a  son-in-law,  who,  without  wishing 
to  compare  himself  with  the  various  sons-in-law  of  various 
people,  that  is,  square,  according  to  the  scale,  you  may  say, 
yet  he  was  willing,  open  and  above-board,  to  leave  it  to 
time  and  eternity  to  say  who  was  who,  and  what  was  what, 
in  the  various  matters  and  things  in  general  of  a  man  who, 
so  far  as  he  was  concerned — 

"  Mapp  Stubblefield,"  the  mourner  would  break  in  herea- 


THE    STUBBLEFIELD    CONTINGENTS.  289 

about,  "  want  know  wluit  you  'mind  me  of,  'ith  your  mill 
ion  o'  multiplyin'  words?  You  'mind  me  o'  the  harricane 
I  heeru  ole  people  tell  about  that  tore  everything  up  pooty 
nigh  in  creation.  You  well  go  'long  home ;  I'll  work  my 
case  'ithout  your  help." 

Mr.  Pritchett's  good  native  physical  constitution  was  a 
faithful  support  to  his  afflicted  mind.  In  time  he  rose 
from  his  ashes,  put  off  his  sackcloth,  got  him  new  clothes, 
even  linen  and  broadcloth,  and  one  Sunday  while  at  the 
house  of  his  son-in  law,  among  a  great  number  of  others, 
made  to  Miss  Stubblefield  the  following  remark:  "I  tell  ye 
what's  a  fack,  Cynthy,  I  hain't  felt  as  young  an'  active  not 
in  ten  year;  an'  not  only  so,  but  I  feels  myself  as  much  a 
man  as  they  in  genii  makes  'em." 

These  words  were  not  so  unexpected  by  Miss  Stubblefield 
as  by  her  brother.  Yet  even  before  the  death  of  Mrs.  Pritch- 
ett  he  had  noticed  with  interest  incipient  color  in  his  sis 
ter's  cheeks,  somewhat  more  elasticity  in  her  step,  a  slightly 
enhanced  pronouncement  of  language  and  manners,  and  an 
increase  in  attention  to  dressing.  One  day  when  she  had 
gone  to  Mrs.  Polly's  he  said  to  his  wife :  "  I've  heerd  folks 
say  riggers  won't  tell  lies.  'Tain't  so.  Who'd  of  thought 
your  pa  'd  outlass  your  ma?  an'  which  she'd  'a'  been  satisfied 
to  stay  at  home  an'  take  keer  o'  the  prop'ty.  An'  look  at 
sis'  Cynthy,  ef  you  please.  Rindy  Stubblefield,  this  here 
sum  we've  got  have  got  whar  it's  to  be  ciphered  out  by  the 
Double  Rule  o'  Three.  Understan'  me  ?" 

"Don't  say  we,  Mr.  Stubblefield.  Pve  got  no  sum,  and 
my  advice  with  you  is  to  let  your  sums  and  your  calc'lations 
go,  and  let  the  good  Lord  manage  such  matters  as  you're 
ciphering  about  as  He  pleases,  and  which  He's  certain  to  do, 
whether  you  let  Him  or  not." 

That  very   night  at  the  supper- table  Mr.  Stubblefield, 


290  THE    STUBBLEFIELD    CONTINGENTS. 

while  carefully  spreading  the  butter  over  his  biscuit,  said, 
"  Kindy,  how  young  your  pa  do  look !" 

She  made  no  answer.  The  sister,  raising  her  cup  of  cof 
fee  contentedly,  said,  "Yes,  very  young,  considering." 

"An'  as  for  his  gaits — that  man's  gaits  is  even  younger'n 
his  looks.  I  see  him  hop  over  a  ditch  in  his  cornfield  yisti- 
day  same's  a  hoppergrass — a  heap  activcr  than  /  could,  not 
to  save  my  life." 

After  this  and  similar  domestic  chats,  Mr.  Stubblefield 
felt  some  increase  of  confidence  in  the  veracity  of  numbers, 
and  it  grew  apace. 

On  one  of  Mr.  Pritchett's  visits  (which  were  becoming 
more  and  more  frequent)  Miss  Stubblefield  was  at  the  gate, 
about  to  mount  her  horse  for  a  visit  to  Mrs.  Polly. 

"  Mayn't  a  feller  have  the  pledger  o'  keepin'  company 
'ith  you  as  fur  as  Missis  Stubblcfield's  gate  ?" 

"  Certainly,  sir,  and  go  in,  if  you  please.  Cousin  Polly 
is  a  hospitable  woman,  you  know,  and  always  glad  to  see 
any  of  her  friends  or  mine." 

Feeling  that  the  Stubblefields  over  the  creek  had  been  a 
little  hurt  in  their  feelings,  the  old  man  was  gratified  by 
the  opportunity  of  meeting  them  under  so  safe  conduct. 
On  the  way  he  would  have  told  of  some  thoughts  that  had 
been  forming  lately  in  his  mind  with  great  rapidity,  but 
for  a  respectful  brief  allusion  of  the  lady  to  his  late  wife. 
Knowing  Miss  Stubblefield  to  be  a  stickler  for  proprieties, 
he  reflected  that  he  might  make  surer  progress  by  hastening 
slowly.  Mrs.  Polly  was  not  a  person  to  harbor  resentments. 
Very  fair,  tall,  stout  in  proportion,  constant  work  in  rather 
pinched  circumstances  had  not  impaired  her  health,  her 
cheerful  courage,  nor  much  of  her  native  comeliness.  Mr. 
Pritchett  was  highly  pleased  with  the  reception,  the  din 
ner  to  which  he  was  invited  to  remain,  and  everything  else. 


\         •       s-'te-  •'•/,.    •  /.'/•'  «-     •     »   o      . 

SHE    STROLLED    WITH    WILEY    ABOUT   THK    YARD. 


THE    STUBBLEFIELD    CONTINGENTS.  293 

It  was  polite  in  Miss  Stubblefield,  for  half  an  hour  or  so  af 
ter  dinner,  to  leave  him  and  her  cousin  Polly  together,  while 
she  strolled  with  Wiley  about  the  yard,  the  horse -lot,  the 
cow -pen,  looking  at  the  poultry,  the  colt,  and  the  young 
calves.  Wiley  was  touched  by  the  deportment  of  his  cous 
in,  softer  than  its  wont.  He  did  not  doubt  that  it  was 
meant  to  conciliate  him  towards  Mr.  Pritchett,  the  gracious 
reception  of  whose  pronounced  attentions  he  had  seen.  So 
when  that  gentleman  was  taking  his  leave,  in  a  manful  way- 
he  expressed  his  pleasure  from  the  visit,  and  asked  him  to 
repeat  it. 

"  Ef  I  don't  do  it,  Wiley,"  answered  Mr.  Pritchett,  "peo 
ple  may  call  me  a  liar  and  welcome." 

During  the  family  chat  that  night  Wiley  said,  "  Ma,  it 
looks  like  Cousin  Cynthy  is  going  to  take  Mr.  Pritchett. 
Don't  you  think  so?" 

"  I  ain't  no  prophic,  Wiley.  Her  mind's  makin'  up  for 
somethin',  cert'n  shore.  Ef  it's  to  take  up  'ith  him,  you  V 
me  got  to  pull  up  stakes,  for  Cynthy  couldn't  help  us  even 
ef  she  wanted,  because  the  law,  as  you  know  yourself,  give 
the  husband  every  blessed  thing  a  woman  got,  etsep  the  close 
on  her  back.  Law  mercy  me !  I  wish  I  war  a  man  jes' 
onnly  for  the  present  time  bein'." 

"  Good  gracious,  ma  !" 

"  Oh  yes,  I  know  it'd  be  good  gracious ;  and  I'm  that 
pestered  I  don't  know,  ner  neither  do  I  know  whut  to  want 
to  be,  ner  whut  to  want  to  do." 

IV. 

The  words  that  could  not  longer  be  suppressed  were  spo 
ken  by  the  impetuous  lover.  In  accordance  with  becoming 
usage,  Miss  Stubblefield  asked  time  for  self-examination  and 
for  counselling  with  her  only  confidante,  Mrs.  Polly.  Mr. 


294  THE    STUBBLEFIELD    CONTINGENTS. 

Pritchett  hoped  that  his  anxiety  might  not  be  strained  too 
far,  and  prudently  hinted  that  persons  at  their  time,  with 
thoughts  of  making  hay,  ought  to  avail  themselves  of  all, 
beginning  with  the  earliest,  sunshine  that  presented  itself. 

"  Mr.  Pritchett,"  she  said,  at  the  close  of  this  interesting 
interview,  "  delicate  matters  ought  not  to  be  talked  about 
generally.  If  brother  does  not  already  know  of  your  in 
tentions,  he  will  not  find  them  out  from  me." 

"  Blame  Mapp  Stubblefield  !"  said  he,  resentfully.  "  He 
want  to  preach  to  me  to  git  ready  to  die!  Coted  Scripter 
on  me  an'  every  hyme  in  the  hyme-book.  But  yit  he's 
pow'ful  fer  you  an'  me  to  jine  in  the  banes.  Keep  prop'ty 
in  the  fambly — see  ?" 

"  I  see,  I  see.     Good-by." 

As  soon  as  he  reached  home  Mr.  Pritchett  sent  a  negro 
boy  to  Mrs.  Polly's  with  the  following  message  : 

"Sim,  take  this  bastit  o'  Muscoby  duck-aigs  to  Missis' 
Polly  Stubblefield,  an'  tell  her  my  respects  of  her,  an'  tell 
her  a-knowin'  she  have  none  but  puddles,  I  has  sont  her 
these  here ;  an'  tell  her  they'll  hatch  under  a  puddle  well 
— howsomever,  she  know  thaf.  Go  'long.  K'yar  the  mes- 
senge  right,  break  none  of  'em,  you  git  a  biscuit." 

The  following  day  Miss  Stubblefield  spent  at  Mrs.  Pol 
ly's.  As  Wiley  looked  at  her,  so  improved  in  health,  so 
cheery  of  words,  and  trying  (he  suspected)  to  be  so  cheery 
of  heart,  he  felt  what  a  sin  was  this  sacrifice  of  the  in 
nocent  by  the  selfish,  and  he  was  glad  that  pressing  work 
called  him  to  the  field.  A  long  talk  his  mother  and  cousin 
had.  Sometimes  there  were  tears,  occasionally  smiles, 
subdued  as  usual,  on  Miss  Stubblefield's  face,  but  hearty 
on  the  round,  smooth,  ruddy  face  of  Mrs.  Polly.  The 
guest  was  about  starting  homeward  when  Wiley  returned 
from  the  field.  She  delayed  a  few  moments,  hoped  that 


THE    STUBBLEFIELD    CONTINGENTS.  295 

cotton  would  bring  a  good  price  the  coming  fall,  suggested 
his  putting  in  as  much  small  grain  as  possible,  and,  at  a  de 
gree  of  distance  that  evinced  both  delicacy  and  kindness,  ex 
pressed  willingness  to  help  him,  when  so  needed,  in  plant 
ing  and  harvesting.  He  thanked  her  in  few,  simple  words, 
set  her  upon  her  horse,  and  as  she  rode  cantering  away, 
looked  at  her  until  she  was  out  of  sight.  In  the  usual  af 
ter-supper  conference  the  mother  said, 

"  Ah,  laws  of  mercy  me !  Ef  I  could  be  king  o'  this 
country  for  about  three  weeks,  I'd  stop  some  o'  Mapp  Stub- 
blefield's  projeckins." 

"  Ma,"  said  Wiley,  petulantly,  "  can't  Cousin  Cynthy  take 
care  of  herself?  I  can't  believe  she's  afraid  of  Cousin 
Mapp." 

"  It  ain't  that  she's  afeard  o'  Mapp,  Wiley,  but  the  child's 
jes' wore  out  'ith  his  calc'lations,  an' — an'  'ith  lonesomeness." 

"  Well,'  ma,  don't  she  know  Mr.  Pritchett's  not  the  only 
man  in  the  world  ?" 

"  Cynthy  Stubblefield  ain't  a  person  to  traipse  and  pe-ruse 
around  a-huntin'  for  'em,  but  she  know  well  as  anybody 
tk.ar's  warous  wocations  o'  men  persons,  yit  she  have  re 
spects  of  herself,  an'  she  not  run  arfter  'em.  Now  as  for 
Mr.  Pritchett,  nobody  have  never  denied  that  he  were  a 
good  husband  ontwil  his  kimpanion  were  tuck  away.  Cyn 
thy  know  that,  an' — an'  yit — one  thing —  Ef  she  did  like, 
or  ef  she  didn't —  There  !  I  no  business — "  She  paused, 
and  looked  down. 

"Liked  what,  ma?  Do  tell  me  what  you  mean  by  such 
talk." 

"  Him  a-sendin'  o'  me  o'  them  duck-aigs." 

"  Law,  ma,  do  hush  !" 

"No,  Wiley,  I  shall  not  hush,  ef  even  that  were  the  onn- 
lest  way  for  a  child  to  talk  to  its  parrents,  an'  you  know  I 


296  THE    STUBBLEFIELD    CONTINGENTS. 

never  counted  on  him  a-sendin'  me  them  duck-aigs,  no 
more'n  o'  thar  drappin'  spang  out  the  moon  under  old  Mol- 
lie,  an'  which  she  gittin'  ready  to  go  to  settin'  on  that  very 
day  of  our  Lord,  an'  it  look  'most  like  a  marracle,  an'  — 

"  Oh,  ma,  you  needn't  take  on  so.  I  didn't  mean  to  or 
der  you  to  hush ;  I  was  just  surprised  at  Cousin  Cynthy 
making  anything  out  of  nothing." 

"  ;  TalPd  oaks  from  little  aco'ns  grows,'  as  I've  not  onnly 
heerd,  but  I've  saw  printed."  She  looked  for  several  mo 
ments  at  him  as  he  sat  silently  gazing  into  the  small  light- 
wood  fire ;  then  drawing  from  her  bosom  a  paper,  she  said, 
before  handing  it  to  him,  "  Ef  a  angel  from  hebn  had 
a-told  me  so,  my  feelinks  wouldn't  of  been  worked  up  pow- 
erfuller.  Read  that  paper,  boy." 

It  was  their  joint  promissory  note  to  Miss  Stubblefield,  on 
which  the  mother's  name  was  erased  and  a  credit  of  half  the 
amount  then  due  indorsed  in  the  payee's  well-known  hand. 
Wiley  laid  his  head  upon  the  table,  and  when  she  heard  his 
first  sob  she  shouted,  in  a  rapture  of  thankfulness. 

"  Yes,  she  say  no  matter  what  happen,  me  V  you  got  to 
keep  this  place ;  an'  she  done  it  as  she  were  startin'  home, 
an'  before  I  could  gether  up  my  senses  to  thank  her  she 
put  her  blessed  hand  on  my  mouth,  she  varnished  from  the 
sight,  she  marchted  to  her  horse,  an'  as  she  e-loped  away  I 
couldn't  keep  out  my  mind  them  passages  o'  Scripter,  *  Oh, 
turn,  sinner,  turn  ;  why  will  ye  die?'  " 

The  next  day  Mr.  Stubblefield,  coming  in  from  the  field, 
said,  "  Ah !  Wiley  been  here,  eh  ?  Urn  hum  !  Say  he 
talk  mostly  'ith  sister  ?  Aha  !  Want  to  git  her  to  git  your 
pa  not  be  too  brash  on  him  'bout  his  note.  I  don't  blame 
him.  Scripter  say  git  friends  fer  yourself  when  you  has 
the  chance." 

Wiley  had  been  over  to  thank  his  cousin  for  her  most 


THE    STUBBLEFIELD    CONTINGENTS.  297 

generous  kindness  to  his  mother,  and  he  did  so  in  a  way 
unsatisfactory  to  himself;  yet  out  of  the  struggling  words 
of  simple  gratitude  a  good  woman  like  Miss  Stubblefield 
can  sometimes  "pick  a  welcome  "above  that  imparted  by 

"the  rattling  tongue 
Of  saucy  and  audacious  eloquence." 


V. 

On  that  same  morning  Mr.  Pritchett  rode  to  Mrs. Polly's, 
who,  after  the  salutation,  said,  "  And  I  do  think,  Mr.  Pritch 
ett,  it  were  the  dilikitest  and  the  dimestickest  thing,  as  I  told 
Cynthy.  I  were  no  more  a-countin'  on  that  settin'  o'  them 
Muscoby  duck-aigs,  though  she  know  herself,  and  can't  de 
nies,  I  been  a-wantin'  to  git  in  the  breed  of  'em." 

"Glad  you  liked  'em,  mum.  Cynthy  say  anything 'bout 
'em  ?  Ast  anybody's  adwices  about  me,  rnum  ?" 

"  Now  look  here,  Mr.  Pritchett,  Cynthy  Stubblefield,  fe 
male  though  she  be,  nobody  but  a  lone  female,  she  know 
how  to  paddle  her  own  canoes,  and  in  co'se  I  could  see 
mighty  plain  that  she  have  things  on  her  mind;  but  she's 
one  o'  them  that  allays  would  take  her  time  about  tellin' 
her  secrets  an'  rnakin'  up  her  mind  up  ;  an'  as  for  the  sendin' 
a  neighbor  jes'  one  lone  settin'  o'  duck-aigs,  in  co'se  Cynthy 
ought  to  of  knowed  that  there  were  nothin'  o'  the  kind, 
nary  thing,  and — " 

There  she  stopped  suddenly,  and  pressed  her  lips  closely 
together.  The  guest  smiled,  and  sat  out  his  morning  visit 
with  only  occasional  allusions  to  Miss  Stubblefield,  to  which 
Mrs.  Polly  rather  vaguely  and  mysteriously  responded. 

"Joe,"  said  Mr.  Pritchett  to  his  horse,  as,  after  having 
mounted,  he  rode  away,  "  women's  women,  Joe.     Hit  ain't 
jes'  one ;  hit's  all  of  Ym." 
19 


298  THE    STUBBLEFIELD    CONTINGENTS. 

It  was  well  for  Mr.  Pritchett  in  the  end  that  such  a  present, 
artfully  managed,  as  he  believed,  had  been  sent  to  as  good 
a  woman  and  as  affectionate  a  cousin  as  Mrs.  Polly.  Yet, 
as  it  was,  he  found  Miss  Stubblefield  (for  he  had  gone  there 
straightway  from  Mrs.  Polly's)  rather  distant  in  manner, 
comparatively,  though  she  said  that  she  was  not  quite  well. 
The  visit  was  less  satisfactory  than  he  had  hoped,  and  when 
he  had  taken  his  leave,  being  anxious  and  lonesome,  instead 
of  going  home,  he  returned  to  Mrs.  Polly's.  It  very  soon 
appeared  what  a  stanch,  sensible,  true-hearted  woman  Mrs. 
Polly  was.  For  in  two  days1  time  all  misunderstandings 
were  adjusted,  and  everybody  was  perfectly  cheerful,  even 
bright,  except  Wiley.  Wiley,  poor  fellow,  sincere,  deep- 
feeling  man  that  he  was,  could  not  but  feel  rather  cool 
towards  Mr.  Pritchett  for  a  while ;  yet  when  he  saw  that 
matters  were  definitely  settled,  he  became,  if  not  entirely 
cordial,  at  least  entirely  respectful. 

After  this  Miss  Stubblefield  rose  to  a  cheerfulness  that 
surprised  her  brother,  sometimes  even  humming  snatches  of 
merry  tunes  while  at  her  work.  For  now  she  was  making 
her  needle  fly,  both  at  home  and  at  Mrs.  Polly's,  who  was  a 
famous  cutter  and  fitter. 

"  Rindy,"  said  Mr.  Stubblefield,  "  I  never  knowed  sis' 
Cynthy  try  to  sing  before,  etceptin'  of  a  hyme,  an'  not 
makin'  but  monst'ous  little  o'  them,  for  why,  she  never 
'peared  to  have  no  heads  ner  woices  for  singin',  like  me  ;  but 
blame  ef  I  didn't  hear  her  to-day  in  the  g'yard'n,  blazin' 
away  on  *  Betsy  Baker.'  Jes'  as  the  Scripter  say  :  when  peo 
ple,  young  or  old,  git  to  waxin'  fat,  they  goes  to  kickin'. 
Hit's  a-gainin'  on  'em,  shore.  They  talk  to  you  any  ? 
They  don't  to  me.  I  hinted  to  your  pa,  but  he  say  he 
don't  want  no  g'yardyeen,  an'  I  had  to  let  him  drap,  I 
did." 


THE    STUBBLEFIELD    CONTINGENTS.  299 

"Pa  knows,  Mr.  Stubblefield,  that  I'm  obliged  to  think 
he  might  have  waited  a  little  longer — " 

"  Good  gracious,  laws  of  mere}7,  Rindy  !  When  a  person 
is  once't  dead — " 

"  Stop  that,  Mr.  Stubblefield.  You  think  nothing  of  my 
feelings  because  you've  got  your  own  projects.  They've 
neither  of  'em  said  a  word  to  me,  and  I'm  glad  they 
haven't." 

One  morning  at  the  breakfast-table,  when  the  meal  was 
nearly  over,  Miss  Stubblefield  said,  "  Brother,  I'm  going  to 
spend  the  day  with  Cousin  Polly.  Don't  be  uneasy  if  I  do 
not  get  back  to-night.  I'm  busy  with  some  things  she's 
helping  me  about."  She  blushed  deeply. 

Her  brother  smiled,  and  said,  "All  right,  sister;  take 
good  keer  o'  yourself,"  then  left  the  table  and  the  house. 

Putting  some  things  into  a  large  basket,  and  despatching 
them  by  a  negro  boy,  she  took  her  sister-in-law's  hand,  say 
ing,  "  Good-by,  dear,  dear  Rindy.  I  hope — I  do  hope  the 
good  Lord  will  bless  us  all." 

Tears  came  into  the  eyes  of  both,  and  they  were  clasped 
for  a  moment  in  each  other's  arms. 

The  disrespectful  remark  made  by  Mr.  Stubblefield  touch 
ing  the  veracity  of  figures,  he  had  often  told  his  wife  that, 
as  a  man  of  honor,  he  withdrew.  He  had  indeed  trembled 
at  the  death  of  his  mother-in-law,  and  until  the  easy,  rapid 
coalescence  of  the  widower  with  Miss  Cynthy  relieved  him 
of  all  apprehension.  After  he  had  gotten  into  his  bed  that 
night,  his  wife,  who  was  yet  sitting  up  reading  her  Bible, 
heard  him  muttering,  "  I'm  like  the  feller  that  were  shot  at 
by  a  double-bar'l,  by  George !  and  jes'  skipped  bein'  of  hit. 
Yes,  sir,  Fractions  was  too  little  for  that  sum.  The  figgers 
that  done  the  business  were  the  Double  Rule  o'  Three." 

After  awakening  next  morning,  Mr.  Stubblefield  was  sud- 


300  THE    STUBBLEFIELD    CONTINGENTS. 

denly  attacked  with  illness  so  violent  that  a  messenger  was 
despatched  in  great  haste  for  his  family  physician.  This 
gentleman,  a  man  of  capacity,  though  bluff  in  manner,  on 
arrival  approached  the  bed,  where  the  patient  lay  flat  upon 
his  back,  his  face  covered  with  a  handkerchief,  underneath 
which  ghastly  moanings  were  uttered.  The  wife,  pale  and 
sad,  had  risen  at  his  entrance  and  retired. 

"Hello,  Stubblefield!"  said  the  doctor,  uncovering  his  face 
and  feeling  his  pulse.  "  What's  all  this  racket  about  ?  Pulse 
good  as  mine.  Where's  your  pain  ?" 

"  In  my  bres',  doc,"  he  answered,  feebly  ;  "  not  my  actil 
bres',  doc,  but  the  feelinks  inside  thar." 

"  Hippo,  by  George  !     Hippo  again." 

".My  laws,  man,  don't  begin  'ith  the  cotin'  o'  yer  ever- 
lastin'  hippo  on  me,  when  I'm  ruined,  an'  broke,  an'  busted, 
an'  sick,  an'  mighty  nigh  dead.  The  Izzleites  has  run  away 
'ith  the  Phlistians.  Rindy's  pa  goned  an'  married  to  Polly 
Stubblefield ;  an'  sis'  Cynthy  she  goned  an'  tuck  up  'long  o' 
Wile !" 

The  doctor,  in  deference  to  Mrs.  Stubblefield,  who  at  that 
moment  re-entered,  repressed  the  laughter  he  would  have 
uttered. 

"  Well,  Stubblefield,"  he  said,  "  this  is  no  case  to  put  a 
man  like  you,  just  married,  flat  on  his  back.  You  got  to 
divide  with  Wiley.  That's  all  right,  of  course.  Don't  doubt 
Mrs.  Stubblefield  will  say  the  same." 

"  I've  said  it  to  him,  doctor  ;  and  I  begged  him  not  to 
send  for  you." 

"Aha!  I  knew  it.  Stubblefield,  you  ought  to  get  down 
on  your  knees  every  day  and  thank  God  for  such  a  wife." 

"Sh-sher!"  said  the  husband,  turning  his  head  away. 

"  Confound  such  a  creature !"  muttered  Dr.  Lewis,  as 
composedly,  yet  with  a  flush  upon  his  face,  he  looked  down 


GOT   NO   PHYSIC   FOR   SUCH   A    CASE. 


THE    STUBBLEFIELD    CONTINGENTS.  303 

upon  the  utterer  of  the  insult.  Taking  his  leave  abruptly, 
he  turned  when  he  had  reached  the  door,  and  said,  "  Stub- 
blefield,  I  got  no  physic  for  such  a  case.  Mrs.  Stubblefield 
is  the  doctor  for  you,  if  you'll  ever  find  it  out.  Good-by." 

The  disappointment  of  Mr.  Stubblefield's  calculations  had 
not  been  produced  as  capriciously  as  may  have  appeared. 
Mrs.  Polly  had  never  dreamed  of  wedding  Mr.  Pritchett  un 
til  that  good  man,  with  the  promptness  of  lovers  at  his  age, 
feeling  the  necessity,  in  his  limited  remnant  of  sunshine,  of 
proceeding  without  unnecessary  delay  to  his  haymaking, 
turned  from  the  fair  field  whose  gates  were  shut  upon  him 
to  the  next  adjoining.  Mrs.  Polly  rejected  him  at  once, 
saying  she  would  marry  neither  the  king's  son  nor  the 
king  himself,  unless  she  could  foresee  some  good  to  come  to 
Wiley  by  such  marriage.  Now  Wiley  had  been  indulging 
in  two  blessed  emotions — pity  and  thankfulness.  He  scarce 
ly  knew  all  of  what  was  on  his  mind  on  the  morning  of  his 
late  visit  to  his  cousin.  Eagerness  to  rescue  her  from  a  des 
tiny  with  shameless  selfishness  planned  struggled  with  what 
he  felt  to  be  due  to  Mr.  Pritchett.  When  he  found  that  she 
never  had  even  thought  of  making  such  a  marriage,  some 
thing  in  her  face  and  something  in  his  own  heart  led  to  the 
offer  of  himself. 

"Oh,Wiley  !  Wiley  !  I  am  far— I  am  entirely  too  old  for 
you  ;  but — but  I've  loved  you  all  your  life."  Then  she 
would  have  fallen  but  for  his  strono-  arm. 

O 

The  very  next  day  Mr.  Pritchett,  who  had  traded  with 
Mapp  for  the  promissory  note,  came  to  Mrs.  Polly's,  and  the 
paper  with  innumerable  cancellations  was  thrown  with  a 
force  approximating  violence  into  her  lap.  "Now  whut?" 
said  he,  with  the  manner  of  a  mower  whetting  his  scythe. 

What  could  Mrs.  Polly  do  besides  crying  with  an  over 
flowing  breast  ?  Wilev  was  reluctant  to  view  this  unex- 


304  THE    STUBBLEFIELD    CONTINGENTS. 

pected  turn  in  the  proper  light;  but  he  prudently  submitted 
at  last  to  the  inevitable. 

After  their  return  from  Mrs.  Polly's,  whither  Mrs.  Stub- 
blefield  had  virtually  dragged  her  husband  in  order  to  make 
their  congratulations,  she  said, 

"You  see,  Mr.  Stubblefield,  people  have  to  let  live  as  well 
as  live  themselves.  As  for  you  and  me,  we've  got  to  get 
away.  This  place  is  not  big  enough  to  be  divided,  and  sis 
ter's  the  oldest,  and  it'll  suit  her  and  Wiley  both  to  keep  it. 
Besides,  it's  best  for  us  to  get  out  of  this  neighborhood," 

It  was  always  remarkable  how  soon  some  women  in  emer 
gencies  can  become  heroines.  The  influence  obtained  by  this 
woman,  had  it  been  earlier,  might  have  been  salutary.  He 
accepted  without  thanks  the  several  advantages  accorded 
him  in  the  division,  and  having  purchased  a  plantation  sev 
eral  miles  south  of  the  village,  removed  there,  saying  over 
and  over,  both  before  and  while  on  the  way  to  his  new  home, 
"  I  feels  adzackly  like  the  Izzleites  when  they  was  tuck  pris- 
'ners."  The  reflection  that  his  calculations  were  to  begin 
again  on  other  contingencies  and  a  diminished  slate  weigh 
ed  heavily  upon  him,  and  he  became  yet  more  prone  to 
compare  himself  with  noted  Scripture  characters  who,  once 
great,  had  fallen  into  low  estate.  His  wife,  generally,  not 
always,  patient,  kept  up  as  well  as  she  could  both  him  and 
herself.  Lately  he  had  been  getting  some  comfort  from 
morning  drams,  and  was  moderately  thankful  for  that.  He 
seldom  visited  his  relations,  but  his  wife  did,  and  not  often 
returned  without  some  substantial  token  of  their  affection, 
especially  from  her  step-mother. 

Once  they  heard  that  Wiley's  wife  was  in  poor  health. 

"  Urn  hum  !  Didn't  I  tell  you  so  ?  The  Scripter  say 
they's  time  for  all  things,  and  some  they  ain't,  an'  her 
takin'  up  'ith  Wile  jes'  to  spite  me  were  one  that  warn't." 


THE    STUBBLEFIELD    CONTINGENTS.  305 

"  Mr.  Stubblefield,"  she  answered,  with  a  sick  smile,  "yes ; 
there  is  a  time  for  all  things,  and  one,  you  might  think, 
seems  to  me,  for  you  to  quit  complaining  of  other  people's 
doing  what  they  please  with  their  own.  There  was  a  time 
for  ma  to  die,  and  for  pa  to  marry  again,  and  that  to  one  of 
the  best  women  in  this  world — " 

"  In— mortal  thunder !"  he  broke  in.  "  Whyn't  she  let 
your  pa  give  me  some  niggers  'stid  o'  sendin1  'em  to  help 
'sport — " 

"  Stop  right  there,  sir !"  she  said,  with  panting  breast. 
"  Don't  say  what  you  were  going  to  say  yet ;  not  quite  yet. 
The  time  came  for  sister  Cynthy  to  marry,  and  she  done 
it  to  suit  herself,  not  you ;  and  if  you,  her  own  brother,  are 
not  sorry  for  her  poor  health,  i  AM  ;  for  she's  just  as  good 
as  your  cousin  Polly,  and  been  a  true-hearted  sister  to  me." 

She  looked  at  him  in  silence  for  several  moments.  He 
did  not  know,  and  might  not  have  been  much  concerned  if 
he  had  known,  the  anguishing  disgust  in  her  heart. 

"  Then  the  time  came  for  me,  poor  me,  to  marry,  and — " 

But  here  the  sense  of  wifely  loyalty  broke  her  into  tears 
and  silence. 

V. 

"  Time  it  is  that  brings  the  roses."  Not,  indeed,  had  they 
bloomed  in  Mr.  Mapp  Stubblefield's  garden,  but  in  another 
a  bud  sprang  forth  one  morning,  bringing  ineffable  gladness. 
Wiley  Stubblefield,  little  Wiley,  I  mean  (for  the  mother, 
when  told  it  was  a  boy,  said  such  was  to  be  his  name),  came 
at  his  Heaven-appointed  time. 

"  Is  it — is  it  a  healthy  child,  Simon  ?"  gasped  Mr.  Stub 
blefield  to  the  neighbor  who  brought  the  news  on  his  way 
from  town. 

"  Healthy  ?  Erleb'n  pound,  old  man  Pritchett  told  me ;  an' 
he  say  he  have  a  woice  that  he  ken  mighty  nigh  hear  him 


306  THE    STUBBLEFIELD    CONTINGENTS. 

holler  plum  over  to  bis  house.  He  say  he  call  him  rnars- 
ter,  he  do.  'Pear  like  old  man  proud  o'  his  gran'son.  I 
knowed  it  would  mighty  nigh  kill  him,"  said  the  man  to 
his  companion,  after  they  had  left.  "  Mapp  Stubblefield 
been  a  countin'  on  gittin'  his  sister's  prop'ty,  twell  he  got 
to  think  heap  more  o'  that  than  he  do  o'  his  own." 

At  the  illness  that  now  ensued  Mrs.  Stubblefield  herself 
sent  for  the  physician. 

"  Hello,  Stubblefield  !  Hippoed  again  I  Who's  married 
now  ?"  asked  Dr.  Lewis. 

"Tain't  marry  in'  this  time,  Doc.  It's  worse;  it's  off 
springs  :  its  pedigrees." 

"  Whose — pedigrees,  as  you  call  'em.     Yours  ?" 

"  Na-oh.  You  know  I  got  no  pedigrees,  nor  no  nothin'. 
It's  Wile  Stubblefield." 

"  Hurrah  !     Good  for  Wiley  !" 

"  Doc  Lewis,  has  you  got  any  feelinks?" 

"  Few  ;  but  don't  have  them  for  just  one  man,  dry  so." 

"  Oh,  Doc,  I  nuver  calc'lated  on  thar  k'yar'n  thar  spite 
agin  me  to  that  lenth  ;  an'  jes'  to  have  thar  pedigrees  tag- 
gin'  arfter  me  for  whut  little  I  got ;  an'  arfter  news  come 
she  were  gin  out  in  her  healths,  an'  I  got  no  pedigrees  to 
my  name,  an'  old  man  Pritchett  palmin'  his  daughter  on 
me  for  support,  and  Cynth  Stubblefield—  My  laws!  it 
beat  old  Sairey.  Want  know  my  symchums,  Doc  Lewis? 
It's  like  the  childern  o'  Izzerl  when  they  sot  down  'mong 
thar  harpies  an'  cried  on  the  Bablom  river." 

"  My  sakes  !"  said  the  doctor,  as  Mrs.  Stubblefield  appeared 
for  a  moment  at  the  door  and  turned  away  again  ;  "  worse 
off  than  I  thought,  Stubblefield.  Took  them  fellows  and 
tbeir — what  you  call  'em — harpies  ? — some  time  to  get  over 
it,  didn't  it  ?  I  not  much  of  Scriptorian,  you  know." 

"Four  hundred  year!     I  knowed,"  he  said,  in  mournful 


THE    STUBBLEFIELD    CONTINGENTS.  307 

triumph,  "  you'd  be  serous  when  you  got  the  symchums  o' 
the  case." 

**  More  time  'n  you  got,  cert'n."  Feeling  for  his  pulse 
a  moment,  contracting  his  brows,  he  moved  back  his  chair 
a  space,  and  said, 

"Made  your  will,  Stubblefield ?" 

"  Will  ?     Doc !  my  Lordamighty  !" 

"  Because  folks  tell  me  your  wife  gets  nothing  from  you 
except  by  will,  and  it  would  be  a  shame  for  fine  widow  like 
her—" 

"My  laws!     They  goin'  to  kill  me,  Doc,  shore  'nough?" 

"Stubblefield,  death  with  you  only  matter  of  time. 
'Tain't  a  case  of  homicide.  I  should  rather  call  it  suicide. 
Killin'  yourself  with  nobody's  help  except  your  own  mean, 
selfish  fooleries.  'Rithmetic  on  the  brain  killin'  you  ;  told 
you  so  often.  Godamighty  don't  stand  such  as  that; 
wonder  you  never  found  that  out,  everlastingly  quoting 
Scripter.  Leave  your  wife  without  a  cursed  cent,  when  you 
might  keep  off  some  of  the  hottest  o'  the  fire  by  doing 
a  man's  part  by  her?  But,  good  woman  as  she  is,  I  don't 
doubt  she'll  pale  you  in  to  keep — hello,  behind  there ! — 
the  cows,  and  hogs,  and  dogs  from  trampling  on  you." 

At  the  close  of  this  speech  Dr.  Lewis  was  standing  on  a 
step  of  the  piazza,  having  overturned  a  chair  while  backing 
from  Mr.  Stubblefield,  who  at  the  mention  of  the  word 
"  will  "  had  risen  in  haste,  thrown  on  a  few  clothes,  and  with 
suppliant  hands  was  following  him  as  he  grew  more  solemn 
ly  eloquent  during  his  hazardous  retreat.  At  that  moment 
Mrs.  Stubblefield  came  out,  bonneted,  a  bundle  wrapped  in 
a  handkerchief  suspended  from  her  arm. 

"Dr.  Lewis,  I'm  again  glad  you  came,  because  I  wanted 
you  to  hear  what  I  have  to  say  to  this  man." 

Her  face,  pale  at  first,  begnn  to  redden. 


308  THE    STUBBLEFIELD    CONTINGENTS. 

"  When  I  married  him — for  what  God  knows ;  but  pa 
thought  best,  and  I  thought  I  loved  him  well  enough — but 
if  I'd  known  how  he'd  been  treating  his  sister,  and  calcu 
lating  about  her,  I  tell -you,  as  I've  told  him,  I'd  have  died 
first,  as  many  and  many  a  time  I've  wished  I  had.  But  Pve 
been  expecting  no  blessing,  Dr.  Lewis.  Not  me.  Yet  I'm 
thankful  that  sister  Cynthy  have  such  a  husband  as  she 
has,  and  an  offspring  to  comfort  her.  You  want  to  know 
what  else  I'm  thankful  for,  and  'specially  since  I  heard  the 
words  he  spoke  to  you  a  little  while  ago  ?  Oh,  my  Lord  !" 
She  put  her  disengaged  hand  to  her  face,  red-hot  with  grief 
and  shame,  then,  pointing  to  her  husband,  said,  "  It's  because 
no  child  was  sent  to  ME  ;  for  me  to  see  him  raised,  and  see 
what  he  was  to  be  taught,  and  him  take  it  and  follow  it,  or 
grow  up  a  man  ashamed  of  the  parents  who  brought  him  into 
the  world.  Oh,  Mr  Mapp  Stubblefield  !  I've  told  you  God 
Almighty  would  disappoint  your  calculations;  but  I've  never 
told  you  that  many,  many,  many  times  on  my  knees  I've 
prayed  him  to  send  no  child  to  me.  Bless  His  holy  nam6  !" 
Turning  again  to  Dr.  Lewis,  she  said, 
"  And  now,  after  this,  can  I  live  here  ?  No  /" 
This  last  word  was  uttered  in  a  scream.  The  men  stood 
aside,  as,  passing,  she  walked  rapidly  to  where  her  horse  was 
tied,  led  him  to  the  block,  hung  her  bundle  over  the  horn  of 
the  saddle,  mounted,  and  rode  away.  The  husband,  gazing 
at  her  with  bewildered  eyes,  said, 

"  You  reck'n — Doc,  you  reck'n  the  gal's  in  yearnest  ?" 
"Earnest?     You  Godamighty,  God —     Go  in  the  house, 
Mapp  Stubblefield.     If  you  stay  in  my  sight  another  min 
ute  I'll  poke  a  vial  o'  laudanum  into  you,  or  kill  you  with 
rat-pizen — you  God — " 

He  turned,  rushed  for  his  horse,  and  galloped  furiously  off. 


THE    STUBBLEFIELD    CONTINGENTS.  309 

"  Cheap,  Farm — cheap,  but  strong,"  said  Mr.  Sttibblefield 
the  next  week  to  the  keeper  of  a  drinking-shop.  "  I  want 
her  for  my  stomach's  sake,  as  the  'Postle  Paul  'p'inted  to — 
to  some  of  'em  over  thar,  I  disermembers  who.  Give  me 
your  cheapest,  that  have  the  strenk  I'm  arfter." 

Mr.  Fann,  after  reflecting,  looked  slowly  around  and 
said, 

"  Right  thar,  in  that  thar  bar'l  thar,  Mr.  Stubblefield,  is  a 
article  o'  whiskey  that  the  man  I  got  her  from  told  me  a 
man  that  know  how  to  load  and  aim  'ith  ken  knock  a  squ'r'l 
from  top  o'  a  pine-tree  a  hunderd  yards,  her  an'  he  call  her 
rifle-whiskey.  I  ain't  a-sayin'  if  that's  so;  yit  I  has  some 
times  taste  her,  an'  a  man  have  to  handle  her  keerful.  A 
leetle  of  her  go  a  fur  ways,  ef  that  whut  you  want,  an'  she's 
ruther  the  cheapest  article  in  this  whole — synagogue,  so  to 
speak ;  yit  I  can't  but  adwise  a  man  to  handle  her  keerful, 
same  as  he'd  handle  aggyforty." 

The  decline  was  so  rapid  that  in  six  months  Mr.  Stubble- 
field  became  as  a  helpless  idiot.  Then  his  wife  returned, 
and  though  never  recognized,  nursed  him  throughout.  He 
grew  to  regard  Mr.  Pritchett  as  Abraham,  his  sister  as  Sara, 
and  Wiley  the  prince  who  had  interfered  between  them. 

"Old  Sairey,"  he  would  mumble — "she  'n  old  Aberham 
was  sisters  one  time.  No:  no:  they  wus  brothers;  that's 
whut  they  wus.  And  that  tother  feller.  Lemme  see.  Whut 
war  his  name  ?  my,  my  !  Seem  like  my  ric'lection  not 
good  like  it  used  to  wus." 

Thus  his  poor  remnant  of  understanding  dwelt  upon  one 
theme. 


HISTOEIC    DOUBTS    OF 
RILEY  HOOD. 


"  'Tis  far  off, 
And  rather  like  a  dream  than  an  assurance." 

Tempest. 
I. 

MR.  FRANCIS  HOOD,  a  man  of  thirty-five,  rather  small, 
high-tempered,  and  impulsive,  was  married  to  a  tall  wife, 
who,  though  of  much  mildness  of  speech,  had  quite  enough 
of  courage  for  all  necessary  purposes.  What  he  regarded 
his  chief  virtue  was  veneration  for  the  aged — a  virtue  that 
he  professed  to  fear  might  die  out  before  long. 

"  Childern,"  he  would  say,  "  ain't  raised  like  they  used 
to  be.  They  think  they  smarter  not  only  than  grown  peo 
ple,  but  old  people,  an'  they'll  'spute  thar  words  like  they 
knowed  all  about  it,  an'  old  people  knowed  nothin';  an'  they 
want  the  hick'ry,  that  whut  they  want." 

These  allusions  were  understood  to  have  been  made  to 
occasional  reports  of  what  had  been  said  by  some  of  the 
boys  in  the  neighborhood  about  certain  statements  of  his 
grandmother,  whom  he  had  ever  held  in  the  very  highest 
reverence.  A  native  of  the  upper  part  of  North  Carolina, 
whence,  after  the  War  of  Independence,  the  family  had  re 
moved  to  Georgia,  now  a  widow  of  fourscore,  she  resided 


HISTORIC   DOTTBTS    OF    RILEY   HOOD.  311 

with  her  granddaughter,  Mr.  Hood's  sister,  a  mile  distant. 
Ever  a  great  talker,  she  had  grown  more  and  more  fond  of 
discoursing  upon  noted  events  that  had  occurred  in  her 
youth,  and  her  reminiscences  had  begun  lately  to  be  re 
ceived  with  some  grains  by  all  except  her  dutiful  grandson. 
A  few  of  these  even  Mr.  Hood  possibly  might  have  felt 
himself  at  liberty  to  doubt  somewhat  if  given  by  another 
than  his  grandmother.  As  it  was,  he  regarded  it  his  pious 
duty  to  accept  and  to  defend  all. 

He  had  never  so  much  as  dreamed  that  his  son  Riley, 
now  twelve  years  old,  and  with  some  little  schooling,  could 
have  the  audacity  to  controvert,  and  to  her  very  face,  any 
narration  of  the  stirring  times  of  which  she  spoke,  and  of 
some  of  which  she  was  a  part.  Therefore  few  things  could 
have  astonished  and  disgusted  him  more  than  her  telling 
him  one  day,  while  calling  at  his  sister's,  of  Riley's  having 
lately  left  the  house  after  disputing  with  her  about  things 
that  bad  happened  right  where  she  had  lived,  and  scores 
on  scores  of  years  before  Riley  Hood  was  born,  or  ever  so 
much  as  thought  about. 

"  I  did  not,  I  did  not,  on  my  blessed  word,  gran'ma ;  I 
wouldn't  of  believed  it  of  the  impident.  He'll  not  do  it 
agin  while  Pm  a-livin'." 

Cutting  short  his  visit,  he  returned  home.  Incensed  as 
he  was,  he  intended  to  be  as  cool  as  possible,  and  he  was 
gratified  on  entering  the  house  to  find  that  Mrs.  Hood  was 
in  the  backyard  engaged  in  some  out-door  business.  In  a 
voice  low  and  unconcerned  as  he  could  put  it,  he  called 
Riley,  who  was  standing  near  his  mother.  Having  or 
dered  him  to  a  seat  on  the  top  step  of  the  front  piazza, 
he  took  a  chair,  and  with  his  back  to  the  door  thus  began, 
in  tones  that  painfully  resisted  the  constraint  put  upon  them 
with  everv  word : 


312  HISTORIC    DOUBTS    OF    KILEY    HOOD. 

"  Gittin'  too  smart,  my  young  man,  an'  a  danger  of  too 
big  for  your  breeches.  People  tells  me  you  so  smart  you 
got  'way  up  'bove  gnin'ma,  an'  she  acknowledge  she  know 
nothin'  compar'd  to  you." 

Riley,  knowing  what  was  safest,  answered  not,  except 
with  looks  partly  avoiding,  partly  penitent,  and  for  the  rest 
suppliant. 

"Yes,  sir,  smarter'n  gran'ma. !  that  all  the  fambly  ben 
a-lookiri'  up  to  from  all — from  all  generations,  sir,  exceptin'  o' 
you,  sir.  Now,  sir,  I'd  be  that  proud  that  they  ain't  every 
body  I'd  even  speak  to,  ef  I  could  believe  you'd  ever  live  to 
come  any  whars  nigh  a-bein'  as  smart  a  man  as  your  gran'ma 
— er  as  smart  a  'oman — that  is,  as  a — whutsonever — " 

Here,  feeling  that  Riley  would  laugh  if  he  dared  at  this 
confused  comparison,  he  grew  more  incensed  and  louder. 

"Oh  yes,  sir;  you  want  to  laugh,  do  you?  But  you 
know  who's  who  now  ;  an'  it  ain't  gran'ma  you  can  conter- 
dick  an'  run  over,  not  by  a  jugful.  Whut  you  got  to  say, 
sir,  'bout  takin'  up  gran'ma  'bout  the  Rev'lution  War?  I 
want  it  quick,  an'  I  want  it  squar',  up  an'  down." 

Riley  looked  up  humbly,  and  seemed  trying  to  find  words 
adequate  to  express  his  remorse  for  obstructing  transmission 
of  the  events  of  that  historic  age. 

"  Frank." 

The  sound  was  low  ;  for  Mrs.  Hood's  voice,  like  her  hus 
band's,  was  in  inverse  ratio  to  her  size.  But  it  had  this 
peculiarity :  the  lower  it  sounded,  the  more  it  meant  some 
times  to  convey.  She  merely  called  her  husband's  name, 
and  paused  in  the  door-way.  He  winced.  He  had  never 
quarrelled  with  his  wife.  He  loved  her  too  well  for  that. 
Then  he  knew  that  she  dearly  loved  his  grandmother,  al 
ways  treating  her  respectfully  and  affectionately.  He 
winced;  but  this  served  to  enrage  him  more  towards  Riley, 


HISTORIC    DOUBTS    OF    KILEY    HOOD.  313 

whom  Mrs.  Hood,  as  he  well  knew,  had  never  upheld  in 
anything  approaching  insolent  behavior.  During  the  re 
mainder  of  this  tripartite  conference  the  boy  never  opened 
his  mouth,  Mrs.  Hood  spoke  only  to  Mr.  Hood,  and  he  only 
to  Riley.  Stiffening  himself  yet  more,  and  setting  his  chair 
so  that  his  back  was  squarely  towards  the  door-way,  the  ac 
cuser  proceeded : 

"  Yes,  sir;  lemme  hear  'bout  your  conterdictin'  o'  gran'- 
ma  'bout  the  Rev'lution  War,  that  everybody,  exceptin'  of 
you,  an'  not  a-exceptin'  o'  your  own  blessed  mothers,  ac- 
knowledtfe  to  her  a-knowin'  more  'bout  them  times  than 

o 

anybody  in  this  whole  settlement,  er  anywhar  around;  an' 
it's  left  for  you,  you  little — " 

"  Frank,"  said  his  wife,  lowly,  almost  suppliantly,  from 
behind,  "  it  were  only  that  gran'ma  she  insisted  that  Guil- 
ford  Court  House  were  in  Virginny,  an'  Riley — an'  the 
child  say  he  done  it  polite — he  corrected  gran'ma,  an'  he 
say  that  sister  Patsy  say  she  think  he  were  right  in  a-say- 
ing  it  were  in  North  Callina." 

Mr.  Hood  slid  himself  down  somewhat  in  his  chair,  threw 
back  his  head,  stretched  out  his  legs,  letting  them  rest  wide 
apart  on  his  heels,  and  looked  scornfully  at  his  son  for  sev 
eral  moments. 

"Riley  Hood,"  he  then  broke  forth,  "  wtiz  you  thar?  I 
must  supposen  you  wuz,  an'  that  you  had  the  lay  in'  off  of 
Old  Virginny,  an'  North  Callina  to  boot." 

" Oh  no,  Frank;  Riley,  you  know,  if  you'll  rec'lect  a  min 
ute,  is  thes  twelve  year  old;  an'  this  was  in  the  Rev'lution 
War,  before  the  child  were  borned,  or,  as  to  that,  me  an'  you 
uther." 

"  I'd  s'pose  then,  sir,  nobody  could  never  of  altered  them 
lines." 

"  But  then,  Franky— '' 


314  HISTORIC    DOUBTS    OF    RILEY    HOOD. 

These  beginning  words  were  almost  inaudible.  Now  the 
softer  her  words  the  more  difficult,  as  Mr.  Hood  knew  from 
experience,  to  maintain  a  course  to  which  she  was  opposed, 
and  he  saw  the  importance  of  becoming  yet  more  indignant 
and  magisterial. 

"  Ho,  yes,  sir ;  it's  FranJcy  now,  is  it,  sir  ?  you  impident — " 

"  Oh  no,  Franky ;  by  no  means.  It  ain't  Riley.  The 
child  have  too  much  respects  of  his  father  to  call  him  that, 
as  he  know  well  enough  he  better  have.  It's  me,  an'  I  was 
goin'  on  to  say  that  when  gran'ma — an'  bless  her  heart,  she 
know  how  /love  her — but  when  she  went  to  put  Yorktown, 
whar  the  British  give  up,  right  thar  by  Danville,  an'  make 
the  Jeems  River,  an'  the  Staunton,  cm'  the  Roanoke  all 
a-empt'in'  clos't  to  whar  she  lived  an'  intoo  one  another — " 

"  You  inconsidible  or'nary !"  cried  Mr.  Hood,  in  pro- 
foundest,  angriest  disgust,  "  them  towns  an'  them  rivers  all 
b'longs  to  yon,  don't  they,  sir?  You  built  'em,  and  you 
run  'em,  an'  you — the  goodness  laws  of  mercies !  Whut  is 
this  generation  o'  boys  a-comin'  to?" 

With  a  prudence  commendable  in  the  circumstances,  he- 
pocketed  both  hands,  as  if  in  apprehension  of  their  seizing 
upon  and  throttling  the  audacious  monster  beneatb  him. 

"Yes,  indeed,  Franky,  an'  when  gran'ma  went  on  to  make 
Gener'l  Washinton  whip  Julus  Caesar  at  the  Cowpens,  an' 
the  child — an'  he  done  it  respeckful — but  he  told  gran'ma 
that  Mr.  Cordy  say,  an'  he's  a  school-master,  you  know,  that 
JulusCaasar  were  dead  an'  buried  before  Gener'l  Washinton 
ever  even  started  to  the  Cowpens — " 

"Aha!  aha!  aha!"  ejaculated  Mr.  Hood,  in  rapid  se 
quence,  adroitly  changing  his  method  of  attack.  "  I  jes' 
now  see  whut's  ben  a-troublin'  your  granduous  mind.  It's 
gran'ma's  lies.  Ye  are  jealous  of  'em,  is  ye,  sir?  Want 
'em  all  for  yourself,  do  you,  sir  ?  Needn't  be  a-lookin'  be- 


HISTORIC    DOUBTS    OF    RILEY    HOOD.  315 

hind  me.  Look  straight  at  me,  sir.  Who  wuz  it  denied 
eatin'  them  green  May-apples  ontwell  they  swelled  you  up 
'ith  the  colic,  an'  you  had  to  holler  an'  peach  on  yourself, 
an'  your  ma  had  to  pour  a  cupful  o'  castor-oil  an'  ippercac 
down  von,  an'  scall  you  in  a  tub  o'  hot  water  to  boot  ?  Who 
done  that?  I  think  it  must  of  ben  gran'ma.  Who  that 
penned  up  old  billy-goat  an'  the  little  peach-orchid  boar, 
an'  they  fit  an'  fit  ontwell  long  arfter  the  sun  sot,  an'  they 
never  did  quit  twell  nary  one  could  see  whar  to  put  in  his 
licks?  Couldn't  of  ben  nobody  but  gran'ma,  as  nobody  here 
would  own  knowin'  nothin'  about  it.  Who  that  tried  to  git 
out  o'  pullin'  White  Face's  calf's  tail  through  the  auger-hole 
in  Jim  mule's  stall,  an'  were  tyin'  a  knot  in  it  when  old 
Aunt  Peggy  come  on  you,  an'  you  knowed  I  knowed,  nig 
ger  as  she  wuz,  she  weren't  goin'  to  tell  no  lies  fer  you  ner 
agin  you  ?  /  wouldn't  be  surprisened  if  old  Aunt  Peggy 
weren't  mistakened,  an'  gran'ma  done  that  too." 

"  No,  Franky ;  you  whipped  the  child  well  for  them,  an' 
I  were  glad  you  did,  for  he  deserved  all  he  got.  An'  it's 
not  that  gran'ma  want  to  tell  lies,  nor  Riley  want  to  make 
out  she  do  ;  for  he's  obleeged  to  know,  like  everybody  know 
that  know  gran'ma,  that  she  have  ben  as  straightforwards 
an'  truth-tellin'  woman  as  ever  lived  or  died,  twell  now  she's 
old,  an'  her  riclection's  a-failin' ;  an'  Riley,  which  to  my  cer 
tain  knowledge  actuil  dote  on  his  gran'ma ;  but  when  she 
went  on  about  Gener'l  Greene  comin'  up  of  a  suddent  on 
Nepoleon  Nebonaparte,  why,  you  see,  my  dear  Franky — " 

Mr.  Hood,  who  for  some  time  had  sat  with  his  hands 
clasped  behind  his  head,  and  hammering  with  the  heel  of 
one  foot  the  toes  of  the  other,  groaned  in  anguish,  rose, 
rushed  down  the  steps,  turned  round,  and,  as  he  retreated 
backward,  shouted,  in  a  terrific  voice, 

"Riley  Hood,  from  now  out,  gran'ma's  lies  none  o'  your 
~ 


316  HISTORIC    DOUBTS    OF    RILEY    HOOD. 

business,  sir.  She  shall  tell  many  as  she  pleases,  sir.  An' 
sir,  I  give  you  the  hick'ry  ontel  you  can't  squeal,  ner  squirm, 
ner— " 

"  Frank !  Frank  Hood !"  screamed  his  wife,  pointing  tow 
ards  the  gate,  "  for  gracious  sake,  look  behind  you  ?" 

Turning,  and  seeing  his  grandma,  he  wheeled,  rushed 
back  to  the  house,  through  the  back  door,  made  for  the 
field,  and  did  not  return  until  dusk. 

II. 

The  reflections  of  Mr.  Hood  during  the  remainder  of  the 
day  were  so  uncomfortable  that  he  became  uncommonly 
fretful  towards  the  hands.  He  had  left  his  poor  grandma 
to  fight  her  battle  alone;  yet  somehow  his  recent  defeat 
made  him  feel  conscious  that  if  he  had  remained  he  would 
have  been  unable  to  render  to  her  assistance  of  any  impor 
tance.  But  he  could  not  but  hope  that  his  wife,  regarding 
the  great  difference  between  the  age  of  her  assailant  and 
her  own,  especially  in  her  own  house,  would  be  as  forbear 
ing  as  possible  consistently  with  her  evident  resolution  to 
protect  her  offspring.  The  points  of  history  in  dispute  he 
knew  not  precisely  how  to  regard.  Being  almost  without 
any  education,  he  did  not  feel  himself  competent  to  judge, 
though  he  must  have  some  apprehension  that  his  grandma 
may  have  mixed  Caesar  and  Bonaparte  rather  too  much 
with  the  thrilling  scenes  that  she  had  been  relating  to  Riley. 
Later  he  found  himself  growing  sorry  for  his  wife,  in  spite 
of  his  knowledge  of  her  sufficiency  in  ordinary  contests,  and 
he  began  to  sympathize  with  her  in  a  possible  first  defeat ; 
for  he  loved  her  with  all  his  heart. 

I  leave  him  for  a  while  to  his  various  ruminations. 

The  old  lady,  whose  approach  had  been  observed  so  late, 
aiding  her  steps  with  a  cane  whose  head  towered  above  her 


HISTORIC    DOUBTS    OF    RILEY    HOOD.  317 

own,  stood  for  a  moment  at  the  gate,  seemingly  much  sur 
prised  at  the  loud  cries  and  singular  actions  of  her  grandson. 
When  he  had  fled,  she  slowly  advanced  up  the  walk.  Like 
his  father,  Riley  retreated,  but  only  into  the  house.  His 
mother  met  the  visitor  half-way. 

"What  Franky  ben  a-fussin'  so  about,  Betsy,  honey?" 
asked  grandma.  "I  heerd  him  a-hollerin'  an'  a-bawlin' 
clean  in  the  lane.  WThat  could  of  made  him  bile  over  so 
brash?  Any  o'  the  niggers  make  him  mad?" 

"  Come  in,  gran'ma.  Howdye  ?  Glad  to  see  you  ;  that 
I  am,  you  dear,  precious  gran'ma.  Now  you  set  right  down 
in  that  rockin'-cheer.  There,  now ;  give  me  your  bonnet. 
Warm  this  evenin',  ain't  it  ?  'special'  walkin'.  But  you  do 
look  so  well  and  peert,  gran'ma." 

"  I'm  mod'r't',  honey,  thank  the  good  Lord.  But  you 
hain't  told  me  whut  ail  Franky,  an'  I  ken  but  be  oneasy 
what  make  him  mirate  'ith  his  woices  so  heavy,  an'  run 
back'ard  so  rapid." 

"  Franky,  gran'ma,  were  then  a-scoldin'  of  Riley  for  denyin' 
of  some — but  which  the  poor  child  is  sorry  enough  for  it,  an' 
never  meant  any  impidence  at  all ;  an'  ef  I  ever  see  a  child 
that  love  an'  have  respects  of  his  gran'ma,  it's  him.  Riley  ! 
Riley !"  she  called, "  here's  gran'ma  come  to  see  us.  Weren't 
that  good  in  her  ?  Come  out  an'  tell  her  howdye.  But  first 
you  open  the  top  drawer  of  my  bureau,  an'  take  out  an' 
fetch  here  that  new  cap  you  made  me  make  for  her ;  an' 
you  handle  it  keerful  precious,  an'  whatever  you  do,  don't 
rumple  it.  Yes,  ma'am  ;  an'  ef  you'll  believe  me,  gran'ma, 
that  boy,  here  this  very  mornin',  thes  made  me  put  down 
my  work,  an'  go  to  makin'  that  cap  he  have  made  me  prom- 
uss  to  make  for  his  gran'ma,  an'  he  bought  the  meturials 
hisself  out  of  the  store,  an'  paid  for  'em  out  of  his  own 
cotton  money ;  an'  he  het  the  iron  for  me,  an'  he  set  by  an' 


318  HISTORIC    DOUBTS    OF    EILEY    HOOD. 

watched  me  the  whole  blessed  time  I  were  at  it  tell  I  fin 
ished.  Riley  think  a  heap  of  his  gran'ma,  Riley  do." 

The  boy  soon  appeared,  holding  modestly  in  his  hand  the 
new  cap. 

"  Why,  Goda mighty  bless  the  child !"  exclaimed  the  old 
lady ;  "  I  don't  know  whut  could  of  got  holt  o'  Franky  to 
be  bawlin'  that  way  at  sech  a  fine  boy.  Franky  ought  to 
be  'shamed  o'  hisself,  an'  ef  he  hadn't  of  tuck  hisself  off  so 
quick  I'd  of  give  it  to  him  good  fer  doin'  of  it.  Corne 
here,  my  child,  an'  let  gran'ma  hug  him."  Riley  accepted 
the  embrace  gratefully.  "  He's  a  smart  boy,  an  '11  make  a 
man,  ef  he  lives,  shore's  your  borned.  Why,  Betsy,  honey, 
you  mayn't  know  it  about  that  boy,  but  he  know  a' ready 
right  smart  'bout  the  Rev'ltition  W7ar;  an'  whensonever  he 
come  to  see  gran'ma,  gran'ma  goin'  to  make  it  her  business 
to  p'int  out  to  him  more  about  them  awful  battleses.  Gran' 
ma  know  all  about  them,  because  she  were  borned  an'  raised 
right  thar  whar  they  wuz  fit,  bless  the  child's  heart.  An'  as 
for  Franky,  ef  he  ain't  afeared  to  let  me  lay  my  eyes  on  him 
before  I  go  back  home  to  Patsy's,  you  tell  him  from  me 
that  I  say  I'm  older'n  him,  an'  by  good  rights  I  ought  to 
know  a  good  child  an'  a  smart  child  when  I  come  up  'ith 
him,  an' —  But  laws  me,  Betsy,  honey,  ain't  you  ben  mar 
ried  lono-  enouo-h  to  found  out  before  now  what  kind  o' 

&  O 

creeters  men  folks  is?  An'  that  many's  the  time  they  think 
they  got  to  rip  an'  t'ar  round,  an'  make  out  like  they  want 
to  break  everything  in  a  thousan'  small  pieces,  when  a  'om- 
an,  ef  she'll  only  jes'  keep  her  temper  fer  the  times  a-bein', 
an'  let  him  do  his  bilin'  a  while  by  hisself,  arfter  while,  when 
he's  biled  over,  he'll  swage  down  an'  git  cooled  all  over  agin  ? 
Ef  you  hain't,  I  tell  you  that  now,  because  you  young,  an' 
got  your  life  to  go  through  'ith.  It's  the  natur'  o'  the  seek 
o'  the  nuniversal  men  people  o'  the  good  Lord's  yeth,  an'  us 


HISTORIC    DOUBTS    OF    KILEY    HOOD.  319 

women  has  to  put  up  'ith  it  the  best  we  ken.  They're  born- 
ed  that  way,  an'  made  that  way.  They  don't  allays  mean 
nothin'  by  thar  cavortin',  no  more'n  a  horse  allays  mean  by 
his  snortin' — why,  bless  my  soul,  thar's  a  rhyme — an'  bless 
the  child's  heart  for  not  a-forgittin'  of  his  old  gran'ma !  Ef 
it  don't  'mind  me  o'  the  time,  an'  it  war  when  Gener'l  Greene 
cum  a-ridin'  by  our  house — " 

The  narration,  which  there  is  not  space  to  give,  was  lis 
tened  to  with  deepest  attention  and  respect.  When  the 
visitor  was  gone,  Riley  said  to  his  mother,  "  Well,  ma, 
gran'ma,  for  me  hereafter,  she  may  make  as  many  histories 
an'  jographies  as  she  want,  an'  go  by  'em  wharsonever 
they'll  take  her.  She  may  have  the  Atlantic  Ocean  an'  the 
Gulf  o'  Mexico,  both  of  'em,  a-empt'in'  in  the  Jeems  an' 
the  Staunton  all  in  one  place, 'ith  the  Roanoke  flung  in  to 
boot,  an'  I'll  not  try  to  hender  'em.  She  may  even  pit 
Gener'l  Washinton  an'  the  old  man  Noah  agin  one  'nother 
right  at  the  door  o'  the  ark,  for  me,  an'  I'll  stan'  aside  an' 
let  'em  fight  it  out  theirselves,  her  an'  them." 

"  I  think  I  would,  if  I  were  in  your  place,"  she  an 
swered. 

When  Mr.  Hood  came  home  his  face  had  never  worn  a 
more  pleasant,  affectionate  expression.  One  would  have 
thought  that  it  would  have  taken  days  and  days  to  work 
such  a  change.  He  was  extremely  anxious  to  hear  account 
of  the  last  battle  fought  by  his  gran'ma,  and  he  had  come 
prepared  in  his  mind,  like  a  loyal  husband,  to  lift  up,  if 
sorely  wounded,  the  wife  of  his  bosom,  and  comfort  her  to 
the  extent  of  every  resource  he  had  within  him.  No  allu 
sion  for  quite  a  length  of  time  was  made  to  the  visit ;  but 
he  was  thankful  to  notice  the  moderately  cheerful  responses 
made  by  his  wife  to  his  most  cheerful  remarks.  He  did 
not  speak  a  word  to  Riley,  nor  seem  to  be  even  aware  of 


320  HISTORIC   DOUBTS    OF    KILEY    HOOD. 

his  presence,  during  the  whole  evening.  After  the  latter 
had  gone  to  bed,  he  said,  "  Oh,  Betsy,  my  dear,  I  thought 
I  saw  gran'ma  comin'  as  I  left  for  the  field  this  even- 
in'." 

"Yes,  she  were  here." 

He  waited  for  more  in  vain. 

"Gran'ma  fetch  any  news?"  he  asked,  at  length. 

"  No,  not  new  news.  She  did  tell  some  things  not  eg- 
zactly  like  I've  heard  her  before  about  Gener'l  Washinton, 
Debonaparte,  an'  them,  but  she  were  mostly  took  up  'ith 
the  praisin'  an'  huggin'  of  Riley,  an'  the  expressin'  her  opin 
ions  about  men  persons  that  flies  into  vi'lent  passion  in 
their  families  when  no  'casion  for  it." 

When  she  had  told  him  the  whole  story,  he  said, 
"  Well,  apun  my  soul !  What  is  a  feller  to  do  in  sech 
a  case  ?" 

"  Why,  they  is  nothin',  Frank,  ef  you  want  to  know. 
Nothin'.  Because  the'  ain't  nothin'  to  do  nothin'  about. 
Riley  meant  no  disrespects  of  his  gran'ma,  an'  which  you 
ought  to  of  knew,  but  he'll  never  conterdict  gran'ma  again, 
no  matter  how  her  riclections  gits  all  mixed  up,  because 
the  child  don't  natchel  want  to-be  thes  eat  up  bodacious 
alive  by  his  own  father  about  Julus  Ca3sar  nor  nobody  else. 
I  knewed  they  weren't  no  'casion  for  sech  a  harricane,  be 
cause  I  knewed  gran'ma,  if  she  hadn't  done  forgot  a'ready 
she'd  forget  all  about  it  soon  as  she  see  that  new  cap, 
an'  I  were  glad  you  weren't  here  when  she  let  out  on 
you." 

He  reflected  for  some  time  ;  then,  in  a  friendly  tone,  said, 
"  I  sposen  then  gran'ma  an'  all  thinks  I  ben  making  a  cussed 
fool  o'  myself;  an'  I  ain't  shore  in  my  own  mind  but  whut 
I  has." 

The  contradiction  that  he  had  hoped  for  did  not  come. 


HISTORIC   DOUBTS    OF    EILEY    HOOD.  321 

Yet,  when,  after  several  cordial  assurances  of  self-reproach, 
she  kindly  admitted  that  he  was  nobody  but  a  man  person, 
but  as  such  he  was  in  her  opinion  as  good  as  the  best  of 
them,  and  to  a  certainty  the  dearest  little  fellow  in  this 
blessed  world  to  her,  he  kissed  her,  kicked  up  his  heels,  and 
gloried  in  the  occasion  that  had  led  to  words  that,  coming 
not  often,  were  the  more  welcome  when  they  came. 


MR.  THOMAS   CHIVERS'S   BOARDER. 


"  He  would  have  made  them  mules,  who  have  their  provant 
Only  for  bearing  burdens  and  sore  blows 
For  sinking  under  them."— CORIOLANUS. 

PART    I. 
I. 

To  one  of  the  counties  bordering  on  the  head-waters  of 
the  Ogeechee  River  came,  many  years  ago  (from  the  north 
western  portion  of  North  Carolina,  he  said),  Ticey  Blodget, 
bringing  with  him  a  few  slaves,  and  money  sufficient  to 
make  the  first  payment  on  the  purchase  of  a  considerable 
body  of  first-rate  land.  About  twenty-five  years  of  age, 
rude  in  manners  and  speech,  but  tall,  well-shaped,  and  rath 
er  handsome,  he  mingled  little  in  society  at  first,  and 
seemed  intent  mainly  on  subduing  the  forest  that  belonged 
to  him,  and  getting  rich  with  all  possible  speed.  His  resi 
dence,  a  little  way  removed  from  the  public  road,  was  on 
the  first  rise  as  one  travelled  east  a  mile  distant  from  Ivy's 
Bridge,  where  were  a  store  and  a  blacksmith's  shop.  Two 
miles  farther  on,  close  by  the  road,  not  far  from  the  ford 
on  Long  Creek,  dwelt  the  Chiverses,  a  widow,  with  a  daugh 
ter  Margaret,  seventeen,  and  a  son  Thomas,  fourteen  years 
old.  The  mother,  who  had  a  life  interest  in  the  estate,  con- 


ME.   THOMAS    CHIVERS's    BOARDER.  323 

sisting  of  a  dozen  negroes  or  so  and  several  hundred  acres 
of  land,  died  about  a  year  after  the  coming  of  Mr.  Blodget, 
and  then  it  was  that  he  made  known  to  Margaret  his  wish 
to  marry  her — a  wish  that  he  declared  he  had  entertained 
ever  since  he  first  had  set  eyes  upon  her.  Mrs.  Chivers  had 
not  liked  the  new-comer,  partly  on  account  of  his  general 
rudeness,  but  particularly  because  of  the  reputation  that  he 
had  made,  soon  after  corning  into  the  community,  of  being 
unduly  close  and  hard  with  his  negroes.  But  his  prompt, 
persistent  pursuit,  his  good  looks,  that  peculiarly  receptive 
state  of  young  maidenhood  when  in  grief  for  recent  sore 
bereavement,  the  minority  of  her  brother — all  these  were 
favorable,  and  he  married  her.  In  the  division  of  the  es 
tate  the  homestead  fell  to  Thomas,  who,  some  time  before 
his  coming  into  manhood,  intermarried  with  Miss  Maria 
Brantly. 

Among  the  Chivers  negroes  was  a  man  named  Ryal,  who 
though  now  of  middle  age,  seemed  to  have  lost,  none  of  his 
extraordinary  vigor  and  activity.  He  was  of  great  size  and 
physical  strength.  He  had  been  for  years  the  leader  in  all 
work,  and  admitted  by  everybody  to  be  the  most  valuable 
slave  in  the  county.  He  wielded  the  axe,  the  maul,  the 
hand-stick,  the  hoe,  with  a  dexterity  that  it  was  very  inter 
esting  to  see.  "With  the  plough  he  could  run  across  a  fifty- 
acre  field  a  furrow  straight  as  a  carpenter's  ruler.  Rough 
jobs  of  carpentry  and  smithing  he  did  in  a  manner  sufficient 
for  most  plantation  uses.  He  was  as  honest  and  humble 
as  he  was  powerful  and  adroit,  and  with  him  yet  was  the 
cheerfulness  of  youth.  He  had  lost  apparently  none  of  his 
love  for  the  Corn  Song,  and  persons  more  than  a  mile  away 
from  the  shuckings  in  autumn  nights  could  distinguish 
among  a  hundred  his  roar,  whether  leading  or  joined  in  the 
chorus. 


324  MR.   THOMAS    CHIVERS's    BOAKDEB. 

Whatever  sincerity  may  have  been  in  Mr.  Blodget's 
avowal  of  love  at  first  sight  for  Margaret  Chivers,  there  was 
no  doubt  that  since  the  first  day  on  which  he  had  seen  this 
negro  at  work  he  had  eagerly  wished  to  be  his  owner. 
With  a  youth  like  Thomas  Chivers,  simple-minded,  accom 
modating,  withal  devotedly  fond  of  his  sister,  it  was  easy  to 
have  the  man  assigned  to  her  husband's  portion,  and  even 
at  a  figure  below  his  market  value. 

To  his  new  master  Ryal,  though  he  would  have  preferred 
to  remain  at  the  old  place,  yet  transferred  without  reserve 
the  loyalty  that  he  had  practised  always  theretofore,  and  the 
services  that  he  rendered  were  incalculably  important.  Be 
sides  the  work  done  by  his  own  hands,  his  judgment  in 
pitching  and  tending  crops,  their  regulation  according  to 
the  varying  conditions  of  the  seasons,  their  harvesting,  the 
care  of  domestic  animals  and  plantation  tools — all  services 
incident  to  his  position — made  him  of  highest  value  to  his 
master,  who  was  fond,  even  to  boasting,  of  the  pride  he  felt 
in  owning  a  piece  of  property  that  other  people  coveted. 

"  Mr.  Blodget  'pears  like  he  were  prouder  o'  gittin'  Ryal 
for  his  nigger  than  o'  gittin'  Margie  Chivers  for  his  wife," 
said  Mr.  James  Lazenberry  one  day  to  Mr.  Ephraim  Ivy,  one 
of  the  deacons  at  Long  Creek  meeting-house. 

"  Yes,  it  seem  so ;  and  the  reason  is,  Jemmy,  that  he  un 
derstand  the  value  o'  Ryal,  and  that  o'  Margie  he  don't ;  and 
a  pity  he  don't.  If  he  did,  she  might  git  some  o'  the  worldy 
and  keer-nothin'  savage  out  o'  him.  He's  a  rusher,  shore, 
but  sometimes  people  rushes  too  rapid." 

It  might  have  been  supposed  that  for  a  servant  so  effi 
cient  and  faithful  the  master  would  have  felt  some,  yea  much, 
of  the  affection  that  was  not  uncommon  among  slave-hold 
ers,  pioneers  as  they  were  in  a  new  and  most  fertile  region. 
He  had  always  lived  hard.  When  I  say  that,  I  mean  that, 


MR.   THOMAS    CHIVEES's    BOAKDER.  325 

with  exception  of  a  few  indispensable  things  not  of  home 
production,  he  lived  upon  mere  necessaries.  Yet  of  these 
he  kept  abundance,  and  dispensed  them  right  freely  among 
his  negroes ;  for  he  knew  well  enough  that  if  a  beast  cannot 
do  satisfactory  work  with  insufficient  food,  no  more  can  a 
man.  His  slaves  and  his  teams,  therefore,  looked  as  if  rea 
sonably  fed,  and  the  former  were  clothed  rather  comforta 
bly  in  materials  raised  and  manufactured  on  the  plantation. 

In  return  for  these  supplies  he  exacted  service  to  every 
degree  that  was  possible,  and  he  punished  with  severity  all 
real  or  suspected  derelictions.  As  for  affection,  he  was  with 
out  it,  or  with  such  only  as  he  had  for  his  beasts.  All  he 
regarded  as  chattels,  belonging,  with  whatever  they  did  or 
could  possess,  exclusively  and  absolutely  to  himself,  and  sub 
ject  to  his  unlicensed  control.  After  marriage  his  charac 
ter  grew  more  and  more  pronounced.  His  wife,  a  delicate 
woman,  submitted  to  his  wilful  rule,  visited  almost  none, 
worked  hard  both  when  well  and  when  sick,  unless  when 
sick  to  bed-prostration,  and  so  continued  to  do  through  fif 
teen  years.  Sickness  in  a  beast  Mr.  Blodget  could,  because 
he  knew  he  must,  tolerate,  and  even,  to  a  degree,  be  tender 
withal  as  something  that  was  inevitable.  But  sickness  in 
human  beings,  sometimes  in  the  case  of  his  wife,  always  in 
that  of  one  of  his  negroes,  he  resented,  and  physicians'  bills 
he  regarded  one  of  the  chief  curses  to  a  planter's  life.  His 
own  health  had  been  good  always,  for,  besides  being  of  a 
strong  constitution,  he  was  of  temperate  habits.  It  often  re 
quires  much  though tfulness  on  the  part  of  such  a  person  to 
be  properly  sympathetic  with  weakness  and  suffering.  This 
man  never  did  find  out  what  that  was. 

He  grew  richer  with  great  rapidity,  and  with  the  increase 
of  riches  became  more  set  in  his  ways  and  less  regardful  of 
public  opinion.  Sometimes,  when  met  with  one  or  more 


326  MR.    THOMAS    CHIVERS's    BOARDER. 

of  the   neighbors  at  the  Bridge,  he  would  run  on  about 
thus : 

"  Whut  I  got,  gent'men,  ef  I  understands  my  business,  is 
mine,  and  it  ain't  nobody  else's.  I  worked  fer  whut  I  got, 
exceptin'  whut  come  by  my  wife,  an'  the  law  give  me  that, 
same  as  I  worked  fer  it,  too.  A  good  law ;  'twern't  fer 
which  some  men  might  of  got  married,  but  not  me.  An' 
my  prop'ty,  all  of  it  bein'  o'  mine,  whut  I  does  'ith  it,  or 
whut  I  does  not  'ith  it,  is  my  business,  which  ef  I  didn't 
have  sense  enough  to  'tend  to  it,  the  law  could  'p'int  me 
g'yardyeens,  an'  which  they  could  feed  me  'ith  a  spoon  er 
cut  up  my  victuals  fer  me  like  a  egiot.  I  never  meddles  'ith 
t'other  people's  business  myself — not  me,  I  don't ;  an'  it 
natchel  disguss  me  when  I  see  t'other  people  a-meddlin' 
'ith  whut  ain't  theirn  ner  don't  concern  'em.  An'  as  fer 
them  doctors,  they  gits  thar  livin'  out  o'  the  foolin'  o'  peo 
ple  in  an'  thoo  thar  wives  and  niggers,  an'  'special'  niggers, 
which  everybody  that  know  anything  't  all  about  'em,  know 
they're  full  o'  deceitfulness  as  they  are  o'  laziness,  and  they 
ain't  a-goin'  to  work  when  they  can  keep  out  o'  the  retch 
o'  the  cowhide  by  a-pertendin'  to  be  sick.  My  niggers 
knows  I  know  'em,  an'  they  fools  me  as  little  that  way 
as  the  next  man's  niggers,  though  I  do  git  fooled  some 
times,  because  they're  cunnin'  as  they're  mean  an'  dev'lish. 
But  it  ain't  often.  I  allays  keep  on  hand  a  jug  o'  castors- 
oil  an'  one  o'  as'fedty.  They  despises  to  take  'em,  an' 
'special'  when  thar  'lowance  o'  victuals  is  shet  down  on  'ern 
when  they  layin'  up.  As  fer  people  a-dyin',  why  everybody 
got  to  do  that  when  thar  time  come,  spite  o'  doctors,  which 
they  can't  keep  thar  own  selves  from  doin'  that,  an'  which 
that  ought  to  show  people  by  good  rights  how  they  can  be 
fooled  by  'em.  Thar/ore  Tommy  drivers,  an'  sech  as  him, 
may  spend  most  o'  whut  they  can  dig  out  the  ground  on 


MR.   THOMAS    CHIVERS'S    BOARDER.  327 

doctors,  ef  it  suit  'em.  But  as  fer  me,  I  ain't  a  person  that 
is  willin'  to  have  to  lose  a  nigger,  an'  arfter  that  to  have  to 
pay  a  doctor  fer  helpin'  to  kill  him." 

This  last  remark  was  known  to  be  meant  for  Dr.  Park, 
who  had  been  heard  to  say  that  on  at  least  two  occasions  a 
negro  child  had  died  on  the  Blodget  place  because,  as  he 
confidently  believed,  he  had  not  been  called  to  it  in  suffi 
cient  time.  This  young  man  boarded  and  kept  his  office  at 
the  residence  of  Mr.  William  Parsons,  a  mile  beyond  Long 
Creek.  He  was  a  native  of  the  county,  a  graduate  of  the 
medical  college  at  Philadelphia,  and  with  notable  success 
had  been  practising  his  profession  for  three  or  four  years 
in  a  circuit  extending  many  miles  on  both  sides  of  the 
river. 

II. 

A  just  regard  for  decorum  demands  of  me,  now  at  least 
when  the  brother  of  Mrs.  Blodget  was  thirty  years  of  age, 
the  husband  of  a  wife  and  the  father  of  children,  to  style 
him  Mister  Chivers,  although,  to  the  best  of  his  recollection, 
never  during  all  his  previous  life  had  he  been  so  addressed ; 
not  even  by  the  woman  who  had  married  him,  nor  by  any 
one  of  the  several  sweethearts  who  before  her  had  received 
his  special  attentions,  nor  by  any  of  his  acquaintance  of 
any  age,  sex,  color,  or  condition.  This  omission  was  owing 
partly  to  the  small  ness  of  his  stature,  mostly  to  the  simple- 
hearted,  merry-hearted  boyishness  that  had  been  with  him 
in  childhood  and  now  remained  with  him  in  all  its  fresh 
ness.  He  was  a  favorite  to  the  degree  of  being  beloved  of 
everybody  that  had  the  heart  to  love  truly,  unselfishly,  any 
thing.  White  folk  called  him  Tommy,  and  negroes  Marse 
Tommy.  Although  a  very  industrious  man  and  a  thrifty, 
lie  had  not  increased  his  property  to  a  degree  at  all  ap 
proaching  his  brother-in-law's,  who  had  often  laughed  at 


328  MR.   THOMAS    CHIVERS's    BOARDER. 

him,  sometimes  to  derision,  for  his  lack  of  ambition  in  that 
behalf,  and  specially  for  his  indulgence  to  his  negroes.  This 
treatment  he  had  borne  without  complaining,  partly  on  his 
sister's  account,  partly  because  it  gave  him  little  concern. 
The  more  he  knew  of  Mr.  Blodget  the  less  he  regarded  his 
opinions  upon  most  subjects.  There  were  times,  no  doubt, 
when  he  felt  like  remonstrating  with  what  seemed  to  him 
wrong  in  the  treatment  of  his  sister ;  but,  convinced  that 
such  action  would  produce  harm  instead  of  benefit,  he  had 
never  done  so. 

Yet  people  used  to  say  that  Tommy  Chivers,  what  there 
was  of  him,  was  all  man,  every  inch  of  it,  and  they  were 
wont  to  recognize  it  as  fully  sufficient  for  any  man's  needs 
and  duties.  He  worked  diligently,  and  required  his  negroes 
to  do  likewise.  But  he  never  exacted  a  service  that  was  not 
reasonable,  he  fed  and  clothed  amply,  and  was  as  careful 
and  considerate  with  the  sick  and  infirm  in  his  household 
as  a  man  need  be.  His  family,  white  and  black,  loved  him 
dearly,  and,  small  as  he  was,  regarded  him  equal  to  the 
greatest.  If  he  was  careful  in  the  spending  of  money,  he 
was  of  undoubted  integrity,  and  withal  notably  accommo 
dating  to  persons  of  every  class.  Whenever  he  went  to  the 
Bridge  or  on  a  visit  of  not  more  than  two  or  three  miles, 
he  usually  walked,  always  carrying  a  cane,  but  rather,  as  it 
seemed,  as  a  companion  and  ornament  than  for  the  pur 
pose  of  assisting  his  legs,  that  were  as  agile  as  they  were 
short.  This  cane  had  been  manufactured  of  white-oak  by 
his  own  hands  with  much  elaboration.  About  an  inch  and 
a  quarter  in  diameter  throughout  its  length  of  thirty  inches, 
except  the  handle,  that  was  round,  it  was  squared  and  its 
edges  neatly  notched.  Through  a  hole  in  the  handle  a  cord 
of  stout  leather  was  run,  making  a  loop,  from  which  dan 
gled  a  tassel  of  twisted  silk.  The  fondness  indulged  for 


329 

this  instrument  led  to  its  reception  of  a  name.  It  seldom 
was  allowed  to  touch  the  ground,  except  by  accident,  but 
when  not  employed  for  special  purposes  usually  hung  by 
its  loop  from  his  left  arm  or  rested  calmly  upon  his  shoul 
der.  The  special — that  is,  the  most  special,  though  not 
avowed — purpose  for  which  Bobby  (for  that  was  its  name, 
bestowed  in  a  particularly  felicitous  moment)  was  carried  was 
to  mark  time,  so  to  speak,  to  his  owner's  music.  For  Mr. 
Chivers  was  a  noted  whistler,  not  so  much  of  known  airs 
as  others  of  his  own  composition.  These  airs,  it  is  pos 
sible,  might  not  have  been  competent  to  undergo  the  test 
of  the  strictest  grammar  of  music ;  but  they  were  so  sat 
isfactory  to  his  own  taste  that  he  seldom  travelled,  if  alone, 
without  giving  utterance  to  some  of  them.  In  these  whiles 
Bobby,  high-lifted,  was  flourished  with  a  vigor  and  a  rapid 
variety  that  would  have  been  in  no  shame  in  the  presence 
of  the  costliest  jewelled  baton  in  the  hand  of  the  leader  of 
the  grandest  orchestra  in  this  country  or  any  other.  These 
airs — the  original  I  am  now  speaking  of — were  given  names 
also.  They  were  taken  mainly  from  the  feathered  tribe. 
There  were  the  Markin-bird,  the  Cat-bird,  the  Thrasher,  the 
Joree,  the  Yallerhammer,  the  Sapsucker,  the  Setting-hen,  the 
Hen-and-  Chickens,  and  roosters  Game,  Dungle,  and  Domi- 
nicker.  It  was  not  worth  while  to  argue  with  Mr.  Chivers 
that  some  of  these  birds,  such  as  the  yallerhammer  and  the 
sapsucker,  were  not  singing  birds  ;  and  that  as  for  the  set 
ting-hen,  she  during  the  period  of  incubation  seemed  dis 
posed  to  silence,  solemnity,  and  meditation,  and  not  to  the 
utterance  of  music  of  any  sort.  Mr.  drivers' s  imagination, 
exuberant  as  his  spirits,  opened  wide  the  mouths  of  all,  and 
the  discoursings  of  these  humbler  songsters  were  represent 
ed  by  his  whistle  with  a  vivacity  equal  to  those  of  the 
proudest. 


330  MB.   THOMAS    CHIVERS's    BOARDER. 

His  avowed  reason  for  never  travelling  entirely  alone  was 
the  need  a  little  fellow  like  himself  had  to  be  never  wholly 
unprepared  for  the  assaults  of  dogs  and  other  vicious  ani 
mals,  and  he  claimed  to  wish  for  no  better  fun  than  to  play, 
as  he  phrased  it,  "  a  chune  on  a  bitin'  dog's  head."  It  was 
after  a  noted  victory  that  he  had  achieved  one  day  over  a 
fierce  cur  that  the  thought  first  occurred  to  give  a  name  to 
his  dear  companion. 

"  It  were  Bill  Anson's  Rattler.  He  follcred  Bill  to  the 
Bridge  one  Sadday  raornin',  an'  my  'spicions  is  he  were  fool 
enough  to  think  the  Bridge  belong  to  his  inarster  same  as 
his  home-place,  an*  it  were  his  business  to  g'yard  it  jes'  the 
same.  Er  he  may  of  ben  one  o'  them  fool  cur-dogs  that  they 
can't  learn  nothin'  'ithout  whut's  beat  intoo  'em.  Anyhow, 
as  I  were  a-walkin'  up  to  the  sto'  the  same  mornin',  a-whist- 
lin'  like  I  'casion'ly  does  to  ockepy  my  mind,  that  Rattler 
he  see  me,  an'  I  allays  thought  he  tuck  me  fer  a  boy  that 
wanted  to  sass  an'  make  game  o'  somebody,  may  by  him,  an' 
so  he  come  a-tarrin'.  Bill,  he  wrere  in  the  sto'.  I  says  to 
myself, '  I'm  man  enough  for  you,  you  imp'dent,  oudacious 
son-of-a-gun.'  Look  like  the  ornary  cuss  aim  first  at  my 
throat,  an'  as  he  ris  I  dodged  an'  let  him  have  my  stick  back 
o'  his  head.  He  tuck  a  turn  he  did  an'  made  for  my  bres',  an' 
I  fetched  him  on  the  jaw  a  wipe  that  wheeled  him  half  round. 
That  didn't  satisfy  him,  an'  he  turned  an'  made  a  surge  at 
my  legs.  I  begin  to  git  sorter  riled  in  my  mind  then,  though 
I  wer'n't  actuil  hot  mad,  because  I  knovved  the  creetur  got 
no  better  sense,  an'  Bill  were  a  mighty  good  neighbor.  How- 
beever,  as  he  come  agin  I  tuck  him  backhanded  on  his  t'other 
jaw,  an'  as  he  whirled  I  grabbed  him  by  one  o'  his  hind-legs 
and  I  played  the  Yallerhammer  on  his  hide  to  his  satisfac 
tion.  When  I  turned  him  a'loose  he  forgot  his  marster  were 
about,  an'  he  struck  a  bee-line  for  home,  a-yelpin'  every 


MR.    THOMAS    CHIVERS7S    BOARDER.  331 

jump.  Then  were  the  time  I  name  my  stick  Bobby  ;  an', 
tell  the  truth,  I  got  so  I  think  a  mighty  heap  o'  Bobby,  much 
as  I  do  o'  some  folks,  monst'ous  nigh, in  an'  about." 

III. 

Unhappy  as  it  seemed  for  her  only  child  that  had  sur 
vived  infancy,  yet  some  people  said  that  they  thought  it  a 
blessing  to  Mrs.  Blodget  when  she  fell  into  her  last  sickness. 
In  the  coarse  society  of  her  husband  she  had  dwindled,  first 
in  spirit,  then  in  health.  He  had  never  abused  her  directly. 
He  had  behaved  towards  her  rather  as  if  he  felt  some  pity 
along  with  his  contempt  for  the  weakness  that  could  not 
withstand  and  thrive  under  the  brutality  that  as  he  knew 
pained  and  disgusted  her.  His  evident  displeasure,  with  no 
degree  of  sympathy  for  any  of  her  complainings  of  physical 
infirmities,  had  led  her,  whenever  it  was  possible,  to  with 
hold  them.  Dr.  Park  felt  ever  an  earnest  interest  in  her 
case,  and  he  had  often  admonished  her  husband  of  the  im 
portance  of  exercising  particular  care,  otherwise  she  might 
fall  into  a  decline  that  could  not  be  arrested.  An  abrupt, 
thoroughly  honorable  man,  he  was  disgusted  at  the  little 
heed  that  was  paid  for  such  admonition. 

"Blodget  is  the  cussedest  fellow — please  excuse  my  lan 
guage,  Mr.  Ivy.  I  suppose  he  loves  his  wife.  Ought  to. 
Worth  dozen  of  such  as  him.  But  I  can't  scare  him  about 
her,  no  matter  what  I  say.  Curious  fellow  !  He  makes 
gods  of  his  land,  niggers,  and  money,  and  sets,  seems  to 
me,  mighty  little  value  on  the  best  piece  of  property  he's 
got." 

"The  row  Mr.  Blodget's  a-weedin'  now,  doctor,"  answered 
the  old  gentleman,  "  is  one  that,  short  or  long,  will  come  to 
a  end,  an'  when  it  do,  my  opinions  is  to  the  effect  that  Mr. 
Blodget  '11  be  disapp'inted." 
21 


332 

A  few  days  afterwards  the  physician,  on  meeting  Mr. 
Blodget  in  the  road,  said, 

"  Mr.  Blodget,  I  sa\V  your  wife  yesterday  at  Tommy  Chiv- 
ers's,  and  from  what,  in  answer  to  my  questions,  she  told  me 
about  herself,  she's  what  I  call  a  sick  woman,  and  needs 
uncommon,  special,  most  particular  care  taken  of  her,  and 
prompt  medical  attention.  Good-day." 

Mr.  Blodget  looked  at  him  as  he  rode  on,  and,  ignoring 
the  insult  conveyed  by  his  words  and  manner,  muttered, 

"  That's  the  way  with  you  all,  you  'special',  that's  the 
proudest  an'  ambitiousest  of  'em  all.  You'll  ketch  up  'ith 
women  when  they  gaddin'  about,  an'  persuade  'em  they're 
sick  an'  wantin'  a  doctor;  an'  it's  off'n  the  case  that 
what  sickness  they  got  comes  from  jes'  sech  projeckin'  as 
that." 

Yet  he  was  put  into  some  apprehension.  At  his  return 
home  that  night  he  said  to  his  wife, 

"Doc  Park  say  you  sick.  Never  told  me  about  it. 
Wonder  you  never  told  me  'stid  o'  him.  Whut's  the  mat 
ter?  Send  for  him  if  you  want  too.  I  told  him  some  time 
back  that  I  were  done  spendin'  money  on  old  Ryal,  an'  I 
s'pose  be  think  he  must  make  it  up  somehow.  But,  in 
co'se,  in  co'se,"  he  emphasized,  as  if  conscious  and  regretful 
of  the  hardness  of  his  last  words,  "  send  for  him.  I  want 
him  to  come  to  you,  ef  you  need  his  medicine." 

"  Mr.  Blodget,"  she  answered,  "  I  am  sorry  you  stopped 
Dr.  Park  from  coming  to  see  Uncle  Ryal.  He  needs  his 
attention  more  than  I  do.  I  hope  I  am  not  as  bad  off  as 
the  doctor  seems  to  think.  /  shall  not  send  for  him — that 
is,  for  myself ;  but  I  do  hope  you'll  let  him  keep  on  coming 
to  Uncle  Ryal." 

"  That,  I  tell  you  agin,  I— sha'n't— do." 

Two  days  afterwards  Hannah  Blodget,  now  thirteen  years 


MR.   THOMAS    CHIVEKS'S    BOARDER.  333 

old,  said  to  her  father,  as  he  was  about  to  leave  the  house 
after  breakfast, 

"  Pa,  ma  needs  to  see  Dr.  Park,  and  if  you  don't  send, 
I'm  going  for  him  myself." 

The  courageous  sense  of  duty  that  had  been  gradually 
developed  in  this  girl  had  gotten  from  Mr.  Blodget,  as  it 
usually  does  from  such  men,  a  respect  such  as  he  had  never 
felt  for  her  mother,  and  he  was  beginning  to  stand  in  a  sort 
of  indefinable  awe  of  one  who  was  beginning  to  show  that 
no  force  short  of  physical  could  either  coerce  or  restrain 
her  when  prompted  by  the  sense  of  honor  and  duty  that 
she  had  inherited  from  her  mother.  It  was  for  this  that 
her  father  had  yielded  more  ready  consent  that  she  should 
go  across  the  river  to  Dukesborough,  where  she  boarded 
and  went  to  school.  It  was  now  a  Saturday,  she  having 
come  the  evening  before  on  her  monthly  visit  home.  At 
the  startling  speech  Mr.  Blodget  turned  and  said, 

"  My  Godamighty,  Hannah  !  I'm  not  agin  sendin'  for 
the  doctor,  ef  your  ma  need  him.  I  told  her  some  time 
ago  to  send  fer  him,  if  she  wanted  him,  and  she  wouldn't 
do  it." 

"  She  wasn't  the  one  to  send  for  him,  pa.  I  wish  to  the 
Lord  I'd  not  gone  the  last  time  to  school.  If  I'd  been  here 
I'd  have  noticed  how  badly  she  needed  Dr.  Park,  and  Pd 
have  seen  that  he  came  here." 

"  Name  o'  God,  Hannah  !  I  didn't  know.  Tell  Aaron  to 
git  on  mule  Jack  an'  go  for  him." 

It  is  just  to  say  that  he  had  not  suspected  that  his  wife's 
case  was  emergent  or  very  serious.  After  its  sort,  he  had 
considerable  affection  which  a  woman  so  faithful,  who  yet 
kept  a  good  share  of  the  beauty  of  her  young  womanhood, 
could  not  entirely  fail  to  inspire  in  a  husband. 

The  physician  came ;  but  the  subtle  malady  by  which  she 


334  MR.   THOMAS    CHIVEBS's    BOARDER. 

had  been  attacked  had  gotten  beyond  human  skill  to  arrest. 
Before  her  death  she  obtained  a  promise — and  she  knew 
how  willingly  it  was  given  —  that  Hannah,  when  not  at 
school,  might  dwell  with  her  uncle  for  at  least  a  year  or  so. 
Then  she  solemnly  warned  him  against  the  neglect  of  Ryal. 
Her  death  affected  him  deeply  ;  but,  as  in  the  case  of  other 
providential  distresses,  the  feeling  that  was  excited  most  was 
resentment.  At  the  burial  in  the  homestead  graveyard  he 
showed  that  he  had  been  painfully  shocked.  To  Mrs.  Par 
sons,  who  ventured  to  offer  some  religious  consolation,  re 
minding  him  of  the  humble  yet  trustful  faith  in  which 
his  wife  had  lived  and  died,  and  of  the  sure  mercies  of 
God,  who  never  afflicts  except  out  of  love,  he  answered, 
angrily,  ' 

"  Don't  see  why  my  wife  should  be  tuck  an'  t'other  peo 
ple's  left.  See  no  reason  ner  jestice  in  it  myself.  Now,  how 
my  house  and  smoke-house  is  to  be  kep'  from  havin'  every 
blessed  thing  stole  out  of  'em,  I  can't  see." 

"  Humph  !"  muttered,  not  quite  audibly,  the  lady,  turning 
away  ;  "  he's  meaner  than  I  thought." 

Hannah's  face  was  tearless.  The  affliction  seemed  to  have 
made  her  a  woman,  and  one  whose  grief  was  not  of  a  kind 
to  be  expressed  or  exhibited  in  tears.  As  they  were  begin 
ning  to  disperse  she  happened  to  observe  Ryal  leaning 
against  a  tree,  his  great  breast  sobbing,  yet  in  silence.  Run 
ning  to  him,  she  kneeled  at  his  feet  and  wept  sorely  for  a 
brief  time. 

"  Dar,  den  ;  dar  now,  honey,"  he  said,  lifting  her  up  ten 
derly.  Then  she  dried  her  eyes  and  turned  away. 

"  No,  no,  Aunt  'Ria,"  she  said,  as  Mrs.  drivers  expressed 
surprise  at  her  movement  towards  returning  home,  and  be 
sought  her  to  remain.  "I  won't  stop  here  to-night.  I 
wouldn't  feel  right  to  leave  pa  by  himself  yet.  I'll  come 


MR.  THOMAS    CHIVERS's    BOARDER.  335 

over  when  I  can  get  things  straightened  out  a  little  at 
home." 

"But,  Hannah  darlin',"  began  Mr.  Chivers,  "it  won't  do, 
it  won't  begin  to  do  at  all,  for  as  young  a  girl  as  you — " 

"  Now,  Uncle  Tommy,  you  may  just  hush  right  up.  I 
can't  stay  away  from  home  yet  awhile  ;  and  it's  no  use  to 
say  anything  more  about  it." 

When  she  had  gone  he  said  to  his  wife,  "  'Ria,  her  mother 
dyin'  have  made  a  grown  'oman  out  o'  Hannah,  blamed  if  it 
hain't." 

"She  need  to  be  grown,  with  the  father  she  have." 

"That  she  do." 

If  Mr.  Chivers  had  had  in  his  repertory  a  mournful  air  he 
surely  would  have  tried  to  solace  his  sadness  with  its  re 
hearsal,  as  he  turned  away  and  began  on  a  walk  towards  the 
creek.  Even  as  it  was,  the  Joree  poured,  though  very,  very 
mildly,  as  he  went  slowly  on  ;  while  Bobby,  unused  to  strains 
at  all  lugubrious,  modestly,  humbly  hung  low. 

Few  words  passed  between  father  and  daughter  that 
night.  If  he  felt  any  surprise  at  her  insisting  on  returning 
home,  he  did  not  exhibit  it.  If  he  sympathized  with  her 
bereavement,  he  had  no  knowledge  of  how  to  console.  At 
supper  she  took  the  head  of  the  table,  and,  as  if  she  had 
long  been  so  accustomed,  presided  with  calmness  and  efficien 
cy.  Her  father  regarded  her  occasionally  with  a  curious,  anx 
ious  expression,  but  said  almost  nothing  during  the  meal. 
When  the  table  things  were  put  away  by  Mandy,  the  house- 
girl,  she  got  her  mother's  Bible  and  read  it  for  a  considera 
ble  time,  while  her  father  paced  the  piazza.  Several  times 
he  paused  while  passing  the  window,  through  which  he  could 
observe  her,  and  looked  as  if  he  would  like  to  talk  with  her; 
but  he  could  not  find  satisfactory  words  with  which  to  be 
gin.  Perhaps  he  had  some  notion  that  Hannah  was  in  such 


company  as  himself  could  not  be  expected  to  enter.  When 
bedtime  came  he  turned  into  the  house  and  said, 

"Hannah,  you  goin'  to  call  Mandy  or  one  o'  the  other 
gals  to  sleep  in  your  room,  ain't  you  ?" 

She  shut  the  book,  rising,  laid  it  back  on  the  table  from 
which  she  had  taken  it,  then,  lighting  another  candle,  an 
swered,  "  No,  sir,  pa.  I  don't  need  anybody." 

She  retired  to  her  chamber,  and  for  the  first  time  in  all 
her  life  closed  the  door.  This  action  astonished  him  great 
ly,  for  heretofore  she  had  been  notably  timid  at  night,  and 
had  always  insisted,  with  permission,  on  keeping  open  the 
door  leading  from  the  chamber  in  which  her  parents  slept 
to  her  own.  When  she  had  shut  herself  in  the  darkness  he 
looked  as  if  his  astonishment  had  become  fright.  He  wish 
ed  that  she  had  not  returned  home  from  the  burial ;  for  he 
felt  more  lonesome,  he  thought,  than  if  she  had  stayed  at 
her  uncle's  and  himself  been  entirely  alone.  It  seemed  to 
him  that  Hannah  was  with  her  mother,  or  nearer  being  there 
than  with  him.  Returning  to  the  piazza  he  promenaded, 
though  with  greater  silence  and  slowness  than  before.  Sev 
eral  times  he  crossed  to  the  porch  looking  from  the  dining- 
room  to  the  negro  quarters,  paused  there  for  a  few  moments, 
then  resumed  his  walking.  Finally,  after  repairing  there 
again,  he  called  a  negro  lad,  and  when  he  came  said  to  him 
in  a  low  tone,  but  as  if  he  wished  to  be  emphatic, 

"Aaron,  you  go  git  your  blanket  and  fetch  it  here,  and 
you  lay  yourself  down  in  a  corner  of  mine  and  your  nris- 
tess's  room  ;  an'  whatever  you  do,  you  rnind  about  not 
'sturbin'  your  Miss  Hannah." 

In  another  corner  of  the  chamber  stood  a  bed,  on  which 
he  reposed  sometimes  when  it  suited  him  to  rest  alone. 
Hereon  he  laid  himself  some  time  after  Aaron  was  wrapped 
and  asleep. 


MR.    THOMAS    CHIVERS's    BOARDER.  337 

IV. 

Within  these  last  fifteen  years  Ryal  had  oldened  much ; 
for  no  man,  however  endowed  by  nature,  can  crowd  during 
an  extended  period  all  the  work  of  a  much  greater  without 
falling  into  premature  decay.  Incessant  hard  labor  and  dif 
ficult  responsibilities  had  made  him,  now  sixty,  appear  to  be 
seventy  years  old,  and  to  have  the  infirmity  of  one  yet  more 
advanced.  Such  had  been  his  devotion  to  his  master's  inter 
ests  that  as  long  as  was  possible  he  had  not  heeded,  but  in 
stead  had  ignored,  the  ever-repeating  warnings  of  decline, 
and  often  been  actually  fretted  by  their  persistence.  Instead 
of  yielding  to  them,  as  a  humane  master  would  have  re 
quired  that  he  should  do,  he  even  had  often  undertaken 
more  than  was  habitual,  and  it  was  pitiable  to  see  how  he 
vainly  strove  to  equal  the  service  of  his  prime  by  efforts  to 
surpass  it.  Day  and  night  he  continued  to  go,  until  rheu 
matism  set  in  and  he  must  stop. 

In  all  this  while  not  a  word  of  sympathy  or  compassion 
fell  from  the  mouth  of  the  man  to  whom,  in  the  disposition 
of  Providence,  the  humble  slave  had  been  consigned.  Mr. 
Blodget  had  always  maintained  that  negroes  by  their  nat 
ure  were  liars  and  thieves,  and  that  every  performance  of 
duty  by  them  was  due  to  the  apprehension  of  detection 
and  the  punishment  that  would  follow  its  neglect.  It  is 
ever  true  that  those  of  one  race  who  are  least  worthy  of 
its  privileges,  obligations,  and  destinies  vaunt  themselves 
higher  above  those  of  an  inferior.  Mr.  Blodget  verily  be 
lieved  that  his  negroes  had  no  more  affection  for  him  than 
he  had  for  them,  and  that  in  their  case  the  best,  the  only 
just  discipline  was  that  which  made  them  feel  that  they 
were  never  trusted  to  perform  any  task  from  a  principle  of 
duty,  but  that  the  cowhide  or  other  punishment  would  be 


338  MR.    THOMAS    CHIVEBS's    BOARDER. 

sure  to  attend  every  defalcation.  With  one  time  excepted, 
he  had  never  laid  this  instrument  upon  Ryal,  and  he  had 
the  audacious  meanness  to  tell  of  this  instance  to  a  knot 
of  men  at  the  Bridge  not  long  after  his  marriage,  and  to 
admit  that  he  had  done  so  for  no  reason  whatever  except 
because  he  thought  it  well  for  the  negro  to  understand 
at  once,  for  good  and  all,  to  whom  he  belonged.  This  eas- 
tigation,  wholly,  confessedly,  avowedly  undeserved,  was  sub 
mitted  to  without  any  louder  or  more  bitter  complaining 
than  would  have  been  uttered  by  a  goodly  horse  that  had 
known  nothing  of  the  cause  of  its  infliction.  The  exuber 
ant  strength,  diligence,  activity,  and  faithfulness  of  the  ne 
gro  had  hindered  repetition,  and  little  as  the  master  knew 
it  the  slave  felt  for  him  much  affection.  I  have  sometimes 
wondered  at  the  strong  attachment  shown  by  negroes  tow 
ards  masters  who  seemed  far  from  deserving  it.  Yet  with 
that  race  the  feeling  of  family  was  always  strong,  especially 
among  the  most  home-staying  and  industrious.  Slaves  of 
hard  masters  have  been  heard  to  laugh  with  contemptuous 
incredulity,  not  always  real,  at  those  belonging  to  the  more 
humane,  when  the  latter  were  boasting  of  their  greater  priv 
ileges  and  enjoyments.  Ryal  had  always  felt  great  pride 
in  his  master's  successes,  and  every  trust  that  had  been  as 
signed  to  him  had  been  executed  with  a  fidelity  and  effi 
ciency  that  were  simply  perfect. 

For  all  this  Mr.  Blodget  felt  no  more  gratitude  than  for 
the  work  of  his  beasts  or  the  accumulations  of  dollars  that 
lie  had  invested  in  the  purchase  of  other  slaves  and  put  out 
at  usurious  interest.  He  was  not  a  type  of  his  neighbors 
and  countrymen.  On  the  contrary,  he  was  an  exception, 
known  and  talked  about  far  and  wide.  That  such  a  man 
would  cease  to  take  proper  interest  in  a  slave  after  he  had 
ceased  to  be  valuable,  however  important  the  services  of 


MR.   THOMAS    CHIVERS's    BOARDER.  339 

liis  foretime,  was  natural  as  in  the  case  of  an  aged  ox  or 
a  worn-out  ox-cart.  With  the  negro's  continual  failures, 
therefore,  he  found  continual  fault ;  and  when  he  saw  him 
exhausted,  though  far  from  being  a  man  capable  of  murder, 
he  wanted  him  to  die.  Mrs.  Blodget,  with  the  means  at 
her  disposal,  had  provided  as  well  as  she  could  for  his  needs, 
and  done  what  was  possible  to  assuage  his  grief  from  the 
consciousness  of  being  of  no  further  use  to  his  family.  On 
the  day  before  she  had  taken  to  her  bed  in  her  last  sickness, 
when,  having  carried  to  him  some  delicate  morsel  from  her 
own  table,  he  complained  of  the  trouble  he  was  inflicting, 
she  said, 

"  Uncle  Ryal,  you  must  not  talk  in  that  way.  You  have 
done  your  part  in  this  family — the  good  Lord  knows  you 
have,  over  and  over  again  ;  and  if  I  had  had  my  way,  you 
should  have  had  long  ago  the  rest  you  needed  and  the  care 
that  is  so  important  to  you.  It  hurts  my  feelings  to  hear 
you  talk  as  you  do.  Then  you  know,  Uncle  Ryal,  that 
sickness  comes  of  God's  will,  and  it  isn't  right  to  complain 
of  that  or  any  other  affliction  that  lie  sends.  I  am  far 
from  being  well  myself,  but  I  cannot  complain,  because  it 
is  of  God's  will.  Don't  you  see?" 

"  Bress  your  heart,  Miss  Margie,  my  good,  precious  mis- 
t'ess !  I'll  try  to  not  kimplain  nary  'nother  time,  an'  I'll 
try  not  to  cry  no  more — dat  is — dat  is,"  he  continued,  try 
ing  to  dry  with  his  sleeve  his  flooding  eyes,  "  arter  dis  one 
time.  Godamighty  bress  you,  my  good  mist' ess !  Now 
you  go  'long  back  in  de  big  'ouse,  honey,  an'  take  good 
keer  yourself.  Whut  would  Miss  Harnah  do  if  you  wus  to 
git  down  sick,  an'  'special'  ef  you  wus  to  drap  off  an'  leave 
her?  It  natily  skeer  me  to  even  think  about  sich  a  thing." 

"  God  will  take  care  of  her,  and  you  too,  Ryal,  if  you 
trust  in  Him.  Sometimes  I  think,  may  by,  it  would  be  bet- 


340  MR.   THOMAS    CHIVERS7S    BOARDER. 

ter  for  you  both  if — but  God  knows  what  is  for  the  best. 
Don't  you  forget.  People  may  make  mistakes,  and  they 
do ;  but  God  never  docs.  His  will  be  done !  I  want  you 
to  feel  about  that  as  I  do.  If  you  will  put  your  trust  in 
"Him,  He  will  not  forsake  you  when  you  need  His  help  most. 
Good-by  now.  I'll  come  again  to-morrow  to  see  you,  if  I'm 
well  enough ;  and  if  not,  I'll  send  Hannah.  She'll  be  home 
to-night,  and  I  know  she'll  want  to  run  to  see  you  soon  as 
she  can.  Good-by.  God  bless  you  !" 

She  took  his  hand,  and  holding  it  a  few  moments,  turned 
and  went  back  to  the  house.  They  never  met  again  on 
earth.  The  old  invalid  mourned  her  sorely.  No  wonder 
he  leaned  his  feeble  frame  against  the  tree  in  the  graveyard 
and  wept  tears  that  were  the  better  part  of  those  simple 
obsequies. 

V. 

The  being  of  a  man  like  Ticey  Blodget,  after  the  loss 
of  such  a  wife,  must  change  for  the  better,  or  it  will  tend 
to  the  worse  with  increased  rapidity.  The  society  of  such 
a  woman,  though  frail  in  health  and  subservient  to  a  degree 
as  to  be  regarded  almost  a  nonentity,  yet  pure  in  heart, 
God  fearing  and  compassionate,  will  not  fail  of  exerting 
some  influence  upon  a  husband,  coarse  even  as  Blodget, 
however  unconscious  of  and  however  disdainful  to  admit 
it ;  and  when  it  is  withdrawn,  unless  the  warning  and  the 
lesson  are  heeded,  he  must  relapse  into  the  evil  vulgarity 
that  was  his  normal  condition,  and  then  descend  headlong 
on  the  way  to  ruin. 

Hannah  put  off  removing  to  her  uncle's,  lingering  in 
order  to  see  what  arrangements  would  be  made  by  her  fa 
ther  for  the  management  of  his  house  affairs.  To  her  great 
surprise,  instead  of  assigning  this  to  Hester,  the  sister  of 


MR.   THOMAS    CHlVERS's    BOARDER.  341 

Ryal,  an  elderly  woman  who,  equally  with  him,  had  been 
trusted  by  her  mother,  Mr.  Blodget  evinced,  although  he 
did  not  openly  announce,  his  intention  of  appointing  to  the 
office  Ryal's  daughter,  Mandy,  about  sixteen  years  old.  Her 
father,  who  had  been  a  widower  for  some  years,  had  had 
much  trouble,  even  with  Hester's  help,  in  controlling  the  wil 
ful  temper  of  this  his  only  offspring.  Lately,  however,  he 
had  been  much  gratified  by  being  told  by  her  and  Luke,  a 
steady  young  man  on  the  place,  that  with  his  consent  (which 
he  eagerly  gave)  they  had  agreed  to  become  man  and  wife. 
The  prospect  of  this  match  had  been  cordially  favored  by 
their  mistress ;  but  after  th«  latter' s  death  Mandy,  with  the 
levity  marked  among  females  of  that  race,  began  to  grow7 
cold  towards  Luke  to  a  degree  that  grieved  and  offended 
her  father  much,  and,  as  had  been  his  wont,  he  reproached 
her  severely,  and  she  had  the  cunning  to  appeal  to  her  mas 
ter  for  protection.  If  Ryal  had  died  along  with  his  mis 
tress,  Mr.  Blodget,  it  is  possible,  might  have  escaped  some,  at 
least,  of  the  unhappy  consequences  that  ensued.  But  Ryal 
lingered,  and  he  might  linger  for  very  many  years  ;  and 
the  sight  of  him,  as  did  to  Ham  an  that  of  Mordecai  the 
Jew  sitting  at  the  king's  gate,  made  him  feel  that  all  that 
he  possessed  availed  him  nothing.  It  cannot  but  be  intense 
ly  painful  when  a  man,  however  coarse,  has  to  endure  a  long- 
continued  presence  of  .one  to  whom,  if  he  does  not  thus  feel, 
he  knows  that  others  regard  him  to  have  been  grossly  un 
grateful.  In  the  defection  of  Mandy  from  her  lover  Mr. 
Blodget  hoped  that  he  saw  an  opportunity.  The  value  of 
this  was  enhanced  in  his  estimation  when  Ryal,  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life,  and  then  with  utmost  humility,  undertook 
to  remonstrate  with  him  for  tolerating  Mandy 's  behavior, 
that,  especially  since  she  had  been  expecting  to  be  put  in 
control  of  the  business  of  the  house,  had  grown  in  insolence 


342 

and  become  at  last  insupportable.  He  got  for  his  pains  a 
cursing  and  a  threat  of  expulsion  from  the  premises. 

The  continued  presence  of  Hannah  embarrassed  her  fa 
ther  somewhat,  and  delayed  open  announcement  of  his  pur 
poses.  He  wanted  her  to  repair  to  her  uncle's,  and  his  hope 
was  that  by  some  means  Ryal  should  be  made  to  follow  her 
there.  But  one  day,  to  his  surprise,  she  said  to  him  that, 
after  much  reflection,  she  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that 
it  was  best  for  her  to  remain  where  she  was  and  take  charge 
of  the  house.  The  proposal  startled  him  greatly. 

"The  very  idee  of  sech  a  thing!"  he  said,  angrily.  "  What 
could  of  put  sech  a  notion  as  that  in  your  head,  Hannah?" 

"  Pa,  I  think  it  would  be  as  well  for  me  to  keep  the  house 
as  Mandy,  and  I  know  it  would  look  more  respectable.  An 
other  reason  is,  that  if  I  go  away,  Uncle  Ryal  will  not  be  at 
tended  to  as  he  ought." 

"  Who  told  you  that  Mandy — "  he  began  in  an  excited 
tone  ;  but  he  stopped,  walked  up  and  down  the  piazza  for 
a  few  moments,  and  then,  with  what  mildness  he  could 
employ,  said,  "  Your  poor  ma,  Hannah  —  my  Lord,  how  I 
do  miss  her!  —  but  she  jes'  broke  herself  down  complete 
a-waitin'  on  that  deceitful  nigger,  which  he's  now  gittin'  to 
be  as  impident  as  he's  deceitful.  It  look  like  she  keered 
more  for  him,  an'  'special'  when  he  got  no  'count,  than  for 
them  that  helt  up  and  kep'  up  at  their  work." 

"  Pa,"  answered  Hannah,  and  it  was  apparent  that  she 
spoke  under  pressure  of  not  less  constraint  than  her  father, 
"  ma  knew  that  she  owed  too  much  to  Uncle  Ryal — and  in 
all  my  life  I  never  heard  you  till  now  call  him  deceitful  and 
impudent — she  knew  she  owed  too  much  to  him  to  let  him 
suffer,  if  she  could  help  it,  for  anything  she  could  do,  and 
get  for  him  what  he  needed  after  he  had  broken  down  in 
working  for  her  family." 


343 

"  I'd  like  to  know,"  he  said,  doggedly,  "  if  he  ain't  my 
nigger,  er  ef  he  warVt  till  he  got  so  no  'count  that  it  make 
QO  deff'ence  who  own  him  now." 

"  Yes,  sir,  pa.  I  have  heard  that  the  law  gives  a  man  all 
his  wife's  property.  Uncle  Ryal  at  yours  and  ma's  mar 
riage  became  your  property,  and  he  is  yet." 

"  Yes;  well,  I  shall  'tend  to  that  nigger  accordin'  to  how 
he  behave  hisself,  and  do  sech  work  as,  spite  o'  his  deceit 
ful  talk  and  k'yar'n  on  about  his  cussed  rheumatiz,  I  know 
he  can  do.  But  if  he  bother  with  me,  and  ondertake  to 
give  me  his  jaw  about  my  business,  I'll  cut  down  his  rashins 
furder  than  they're  cut  down  now,  and,  more  'n  that,  I'll 
give  him  the  cowhide  in  the  bargain." 

"  And  that,"  she  said,  in  low,  trembling  tones,  "  when 
what  you  call  "jawing"  about  your  business  is  nothing  but 
the  poor,  dear  old  man's  trying  to  do  you  a  service  that, 
if  you'd  take  it,  would  be  worth  to  you  more  than  all  he 
ever  did  for  you  before,  in  warning  you  against  his  own, 
only  child,  who,  with  your  very  own  consent,  treats  him  as 
badly  as  you  do."  Raising  her  voice  high,  she  continued : 
"  Oh  pa,  pa,  pa  !  I  wonder  a  man,  so  soon  after  his  wife  has 
been  put  under  the  ground,  can  use  such  words  when  talk 
ing  about  a  servant  who  he  knows — for  I  heard  her  tell 
you  so — was  on  her  mind  in  her  dying  hour.  It  is  a  shame 
— a  shame  against  God  !" 

Her  face  reddened  and  quivered  with  the  anguishing  in 
dignation  that  burned  in  her  breast.  He  rose,  and  glaring 
fiercely  upon  her,  said,  in  a  low,  husky  voice, 

"  Lookee  here,  Hannah  Blodget,  you  know  who  you  talk- 
in'  too?" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  she  almost  screamed,  as  hot  tears  poured  from 
her  eyes.  "  I  am  talking  to  my  own  father,  to  the  husband 
of  my  dead  mother,  and  to  the  master  of  a  poor  negro 


344  ME.  THOMAS    CHIVERS'S    BOARDER, 

whom,  now  that  he  is  old  and  broken  down,  he  intends  not 
only  to  neglect  but  to  outrage.  That's  who  I'm  talking  to  !" 

Muttering  a  curse,  he  moved  towards  her,  his  hands  ex 
tended  as  if  to  grasp  her.  She  rose  quickly,  and  covering 
her  face  with  her  hands,  cried  aloud, 

"  0  my  mother  !     O  my  God  !" 

He  turned  abruptly  away  and  immediately  left  the  house. 

Hannah  went  to  her  own  chamber,  took  out  and  wrapped 
in  a  handkerchief  a  few  articles  of  clothing,  and,  after  a 
brief  visit  to  Ryal,  set  out  on  foot  and  alone  for  her  new 
home.  As  the  old  man  stood  leaning  upon  his  staff,  look 
ing  after  her  departing  form,  Mandy  came  flaunting  where 
he  was,  and  asked, 

"  Whar  dat  gal  prancin'  off  ter  ?" 

"  You  imp'dent  hussy,  you  !  You  darsn't  to  call  your 
young  mist' ess  dat  way  !" 

"Whut  I  calls  dat  gal  er  nobody  else  no  business  to 
you,"  she  answered,  perking  her  face  insolently  towards 
his.  He  raised  his  hand,  but  she  eluded  his  grasp  and  ran 
off  laughing  to  the  house. 

"  Wish  to  God  you  never  had  o'  ben  borned !"  he  said,  in 
hopeless  anger  and  shame. 

A  few  minutes  afterwards  Dr.  Park,  who  had  been  visit 
ing  a  patient  beyond  the  Bridge,  rode  up  to  the  gate,  and 
seeing  Mandy  in  the  piazza,  said,  "  Hello,  Mandy !  tell  your 
Miss  Hannah  to  step  out  to  the  piazza  a  minute,  if  she 
pleases.  Tell  me  first  how  your  daddy  is.  Never  mind ; 
Hannah  '11  know  better  than  you  about  that.  Ask  her  to 
step  out.  Be  quick  about  it." 

"  Miss  Hannah  ain't  here,  doctor." 

"  Ain't  here  ?  Why,  Tommy  drivers  told  me  two  hours 
ago,  as  I  rode  by  his  house,  that  she  hadn't  gone  there  yet. 
What  do  you  mean  ?" 


345 

"  I  reckon  she  gone  thar  now,  sir.  She  lef  here  I  'speck 
it  ben  no  more  'n  jes'  about  a  quarter  of  a  hour  ago.  She 
never  told  me  vvhar  she  were  goin'." 

"Didn't  she  tell  her  pa?" 

"Dat  I  don't  know,  doctor.  Marster  he  lef  for  some- 
whar  not  long  befoe  she  did." 

"  Nobody  go  with  her?     Ride  or  walk  ?" 

"She  went  right  dar  out  de  gate  wid  a  bundle  on  her 
arm  tied  in  a  han'k'cher,  by  herself,  a-walkin'." 

"  Didn't  her  pa  know  she  was  going  ?" 

"Don't  know,  sir." 

"You  don't,  eh?  What  do  you  know?  Can  you  tell 
me  how  your  daddy  is  ?  I've  no  idea  you  can.  I'll  go  see 
for  myself."  He  alighted,  hitched  his  horse  to  one  of  the 
red-oaks  near,  and  walked  rapidly  to  Ryal's  cabin.  In  a 
few  minutes  he  returned,  and  as  he  was  passing  the  house 
called  to  Mandy,  who  did  not  immediately  answer. 

"  You  Mandy  !"  he  roared,  "  have  you  got  deaf  since 
you  got  so  big?  Why  dont  you  answer  and  come  out 
here?" 

She  came,  looking  as  if  she  had  used  very  great  haste. 

"  Ah,  ha !  Come  at  last  ?  Look  at  me,  Mandy,  and  try 
to  have  sense  enough  to  remember  what  I  tell  you.  If  you 
don't  'tend  better  to  your  daddy  than  you've  been  doing 
since  your  mistress's  death,  the  devil  will  get  you  certain. 
I  rather  think  he's  got  one  of  his  paws  on  you  now.  I 
knew  you  didn't  have  much  sense,  but  I  didn't  think  you 
quite  as  big  a  fool  as  it  looks  like  you're  bent  on  making 
of  yourself ;  but  if  you  don't  want  the  devil  to  grab  you 
in  short,  and  that  before  you  can  say  'Jack  Roberson,'  you 
attend  better  to  that  daddy  of  yours." 


346 


VI. 

When  Dr.  Park  left  Mr.  Blodget's,  with  what  speed  that 
was  consistent  with  due  regard  for  the  good  horse  that  had 
borne  him  already  over  a  space  of  many  miles  that  day,  he 
rode  along  the  road  leading  to  Mr.  Chivers's.  Overtaking 
Hannah  when  she  had  made  two-thirds  of  her  way,  he  cried, 

"  Tommy's  right.  You  are  a  grown  woman,  or  at  least 
take  yourself  to  be  one.  You  must  have  been  reading 
about  that  girl  that  with  wands  and  jewels  and  crosses,  and 
so-forths,  went  clipping  it  along  by  herself  all  over  the 
country  and  nobody  took  her  up.  But  I  tell  you  now  that 
such  travelling  as  that  in  a  country  big  as  this  is  and  full 
of  wolves  won't  do  for  a  girl  with  nothing  but  a  bundle  of 
clothes  on  her  arm.  Where  you  migrating  to?  It's  to  be 
hoped  you'll  tarry  a  while  at  your  Uncle  Tommy's,  though 
there's  no  telling  where  a  girl  that's  been  made  a  woman 
all  of  a  sudden  will  fetch  up  after  she  once  starts." 

He  dismounted,  shortened  the  stirrup-leather  on  the  hith 
er  side,  brought  over  the  other,  and,  holding  forth  his  open 
hand,  said, 

"  Put  your  foot  in  that  hand  and  mount." 

"Doctor,"  she  began  to  remonstrate,  "I'm  not  tired,  and 
how  can  I  ride  on  a  man's  saddle,  and — " 

"  Lookee  here,  Hannah,  if  you're  already  done  grown,  you 
aren't  so  big  and  heavy  that  I  can't  put  you  on  that  horse 
if  I  have  it  to  do;  in  which  case  I'll  have  to  take  you  in  my 
arms.  Put  that  foot  in  this  hand,  and  catch  hold  of  Bill's 
mane,  if  you  don't  want  to  be  hugged." 

She  obeyed ;  he  lifted  her  to  the  saddle  and  walked  by 
the  horse's  side  the  rest  of  the  way. 

"Blow  for  your  Marse  Tommy,  Sooky,"  he  said  to  the 
cook,  when  Hannah  had  alighted  and  gone  into  the  house. 


347 

Sooky  took  down  the  conch,  whose  blast  (only  one  she 
wound),  long,  clear,  sonorous,  commanding,  made  soon  ap 
pear  her  master,  who  came,  as  usual,  with  hurrying  tread. 
The  physician,  leading  his  horse,  met  hirn  as  he  came  along 
the  road,  and  climbing  the  fence,  they  seated  themselves 
upon  a  rider. 

"  How's  your  crop,  Tommy  ?"  asked  the  visitor. 

"  Oh,  in  the  grass  tumble,  Doc." 

"Umph!  umph  !  And  you  know,  Tommy  Chivers,  that 
it's  the  cleanest  in  the  whole  neighborhood.  Astonishing 
how  some  folks,  and  they  not  the  worst  in  the  world,  will 
complain  and  try  to  fool  people  about  their  crops.  If  I 
didn't  live  so  close  to  you  I  suppose  you'd  try  to  deny  get 
ting  that  good  rain  that  came  day  before  yesterday." 

"No,  indeed,  Doc;  but  yit  —  and  I  were  monst'ous 
thankful  fer  the  rain — but  yit  we  couldn't  run  the  ploughs 
tell  this  mornin',  and  the  press  o'  work  is  that — 

"That  I  want  to  try  to  help  you  out  a  little.  I  made 
Sooky  blow  you  up  because  I  wanted  to  talk  to  you  about 
taking  a  boarder.  I  just  left  Hannah  at  the  house." 

"  A  boder,  Doc  ?  You  jokin',  'ithout  you  call  Han 
nah  a  boder,  which  /  don't,  ner  do  'Ria,  and  we  both  ben 
havin'  our  mind  pestered  why  she  haven't  come  along  on, 
as  her  mother  wanted  and  expected.  I  s'pose  Blodget 
thought  he  have  a  use  fer  her  fer  a  while  tell  he  got  things 
sort  o'  straightened  up.  I  never  went  over  to  inquire,  for 
I  didn't  have  so  powerful  much  to  do  'ith  Blodget  while 
sis'  Margie  were  alive,  an'  sence  then  nother  me  ncr  'Ria 
'pear  like  we  got  the  heart  to  go  thar,  though  'Ria  said  this 
very  mornin'  that  ef  Hannah  didn't  come  to-day  she  were 
goin'  over  thar  to  know  whut  the  reasons  wus.  But,  Doc, 
we  don't  call  Hannah  no  boder,  no  more  'n  one  o'  our  own 
childern." 


348 

Dr.  Park  moved  himself  a  trifle,  and  looking  sidewise  at 
Mr.  Chivers,  said, 

"  Tommy,  the  dickence  is  to  pay  over  at  Blodget's,  as  T 
knew  it  would  be.  I'm  not  talking  about  Hannah,  but 
somebody  .else  as  a  boarder,  and  I  was  never  in  more  dead 
earnest  in  my  life." 

"  Idee  o'  my  takin'  boders !  when  my  house  hardly  big- 
enough  for  them  that's  in  it  now.  That  is  funny,  Doc." 

"The  boarder  I'm  talking  about  now  won't  be  for  your 
house,  Tom  Chivers,  though  that  is  far  too  big  for  a  fellow 
of  vour  size.  I'm  now  talking  about  old  Ryal." 

"  What  ?  thunder,  you  say  !  Can't  Tice  Blodget  take  keer 
of  his  own  niggers?  He  ought  to;  he  makes  'em  work 
hard  enough." 

"There's  a  difference,  Tommy,  between  canning  and 
wonting.  Tice  Blodget's  like  that  old  fellow  Cato,  of  whom 
mayby  you've  read.  If  you  haven't,  I'll  tell  you  that  he 
was  a  fellow  who,  when  one  of  his  slaves  got  too  old  or  too 
sick  to  work,  he  got  rid  of  him  like  he  would  have  done 
with  a  worn-out  horse." 

"  Who  you  say  he  wus,  Doc  ?" 

"  Old  Cato." 

"  Whar  did  he  hold  out  at?     Anywhar's  in  Georgie  ?" 

"  Oh  !  no.  He  was  of  Rome,  in  Italy,  away  over  the  At 
lantic  Ocean." 

"  Well,  wharsonever  he  wus,  he  were,  to  my  opinions  at 
least,  he  were  a  mean  an'  a  infernal  ole  cuss." 

"Been  just  my  opinion  always,  Tommy.  But  then  he 
was  a  heathen,  and  Ticey  Blodget,  even  if  he  ain't  a  Chris- 
'tian,  as  a  good  many  of  the  rest  of  us  poor  devils  ain't,  yet 
he  ought  to  know  better." 

"  Ef  Tice  Blodget  ain't  a  heathen,  whutever  sech  folks  is — 
But  whut  about  old  man  Ryal  ?  Have  Blodget  driv'  him  off  ?" 


MR.   THOMAS    CHIVERS  S    BOABDEK.  349 

"Not  quite;  but  it  amounts  to  it,  and  I  promised  his 
wife  to  do  what  I  could  in  seeing  him  taken  care  of." 

"  So  did  I,  by  gracious  !  though  sis'  Margie  know  I 
wouldn't  let  old  Uncle  Ryal  suffer  if  I  could  help  it.  In 
course,  Dr.  Park,  if  Tice  Blodget  drive  him  off,  and  the  old 
feller  can't  do  no  better,  I'll  do  the  best  I  can  for  him. 
'Deed,  if  he  is  driv'  off,  I  ruther  he'd  come  here  than  go 
anywheres  else;  for  pa  and  ma  both  thought  a  heap  o'  Un 
cle  Ryal.  But  I  sha'n't  call  him  no  boder,  Doc,  no  more  'n 
I  call  Hannah  a  boder.  The  very  idee  o'  sech  a  thing !" 

Dr.  Park  again  shifted  his  seat,  looking  the  while  rather 
angrily  at  the  space  he  had  lately  covered  ;  then  in  a  tone 
somewhat  disappointed,  sad,  distant,  said,  as  if  soliloquizing, 
"I'm  afraid  I'll  have  to  make  other  arrangements  about  the 
poor  old  fellow." 

Mr.  Chivers  was  impressed  sensibly  by  these  words. 
Drawing  up  his  cane  and  applying  his  mouth  to  the  han 
dle  end,  he  let  it  hang  down  between  his  legs,  and  placing 
his  fingers  carefully  in  a  row  as  if  on  a  clarinet,  he  medi 
tated  as  he  moved  them  up  and  down  with  great  rapidity. 
To  an  imaginative  person  it  might  have  seemed  as  if  he  were 
essaying  by  this  means  to  personate  the  shepherd  on  the 
Grecian  urn,  and 

"  Pipe  to  the  spirit  ditties  of  no  tone." 

Suddenly  his  visitor  broke  forth  thus : 

"  Tom  Chivers,  I  don't  care  what  you  call  old  Ryal 
when  he  gets  here.  What  I  want  to  have  understood  is 
that  you  shall  not,  at  least  with  my  connivance,  feed,  clothe, 
and  wait  on  other  people's  negroes  for  nothing.  Ticey 
Blodget  is  responsible  in  all  this  business,  and  I  am  going 
to  make  him  see  it  to  his  cost.  Mrs.  Parsons  would  let  me 


350 

take  him  there,  but  being  a  family  negro  I  thought  perhaps 
you'd  rather — " 

"In  co'se,  in  co'se,  Doc,"  said  Mr.  Chivers  twice  in  quick 
succession,  "  if  the  poor  old  fellow  have  to  forridge  on  other 
people  besides  of  his  lawfuld  owner,  I'm  the  one  for  that. 
What  I  were  a-thinkin'  about — " 

"I  know  what  you  were  thinking  about,  but  that  is  what 
I  don't  intend  to  allow.  Ryal  sha'n't/ora^e  on  you,  as  you 
call  it.  The  law  of  the  State  don't  allow  a  man  to  throw 
off  an  old  negro  as  he  would  an  old  mule,  without  paying 
for  it." 

"  I  never  heard  of  any  sech  law,  and  didn't  s'pose  they'd 
ever  be  any  needcessity  fer  sech  a  law." 

**  No  ;  because  it  is  the  first  time  in  this  section  that 
there  has  been  any  occasion  to  resort  to  it.  I  didn't  know 
of  its  existence  until  yesterday,  when  I  went  to  see  the  old 
man  Ivy  —  who,  you  know,  is  one  of  the  judges  of  the 
County  Court — in  order  to  ask  him  if  he  didn't  know  of 
some  way  to  head  off  Tice  Blodget  in  his  devilment.  Mr. 
Ivy  got  down  the  'Digest'  and  showed  me  this  law,  which  I 
copied.  Here  it  is."  Taking  from  his  pocket  a  paper,  he 
read  as  follows  : 

"  AN  ACT  TO  COMPEL   OWNKRS   OF  OLD  OR  IiNFIKM    SLAVES  TO    MAINTAIN 

THEM.     Approved  December  12,  1815. 

"  SEC.  1.  From  and  after  the  passing  of  this  act  it  shall  be  the  duty 
of  the  inferior  courts  of  the  several  counties  in  this  State,  on  receiv 
ing  information  on  oath  of  any  infirm  slave  or  slaves  being  in  a  suf 
fering  situation  from  the  neglect  of  the  owner  or  owners  of  such 
slave  or  slaves,  to  make  particular  inquiries  into  the  situation  of  such 
slave  or  slaves,  and  render  such  relief  as  they  in  their  discretion  may 
think  proper. 

"SEC.  2.  The  said  courts  may,  and  they  are  hereby  authorized  to, 
sue  for  and  recover  from  the  owner  or  owners  of  such  slave  or  slaves 


Mil.  THOMAS    CHIVERS'S    BOARDER.  351 

the  amount  that  may  be  appropriated  for  the  relief  of  such  slave  or 
slaves  in  any  court  having  jurisdiction  of  the  same  ;  any  law,  usage, 
or  custom  to  the  contrary  notwithstanding." 

"  Good  law,"  said  Mr.  Chivers,  heartily  ;  "  but  what  I  was 
thinking  about  is  how  to  go  about  makin'  charges  for  what 
little  poor  old  Ryal  '11  eat," 

"  Well,  what  I've  got  to  say  is  this,  that  if  you  don't, 
I'll  take  him  somewhere  else,  which  I  know  you  don't  want 
done." 

"  Cert'nly  not,  Doc  Park  ;  but  it  look  mighty  nigh  like 
chargin'  my  own  father ;  blame  if  it  don't." 

"There's  got  to  be  a  contract  about  it,  Tommy,"  said  the 
doctor,  looking  away  for  a  moment.  "  so  figure  away  on 
your  calculations.  I  consider  myself  the  agent  of  the 
court  now,  and  things  must  be  done  up  bang.  So  fire 
away  and  make  it  a  plenty.  I'm  coming  to  see  him  every 
day,  and  I  mean  to  pile  it  on  him  to  the  full — visits,  mile 
age,  and  medicine.  What  do  you  say  to  ten  dollars  a 
month  for  yourself  ?" 

"  Ten  dollars  a  month  !  Law,  Doc  Park  !  he  can't  eat 
three,  to  save  his  life,  not  if  he  was  a  well  man." 

"  You  don't  think  of  what  I'm  talking  about,  man.  I'm 
not  talking  about  your  meal  and  meat.  I  want  old  Ryal  to 
have  luxuries.  He  needs  them  to  build  him  up  from  the 
condition  to  which  his  master's  meanness  has  reduced  him. 
He's  got  to  have  tea  and  coffee,  chicken  and  batter  cakes, 
biscuit  and  fritters,  pancakes  and  dumplings,  rich  as  butter 
and  sugar  can  make  'cm,  pie  and  custard,  tarts  and  pudding, 
cream  and  preserves,  lemon-syrup  and  —  yes,  syllabub,  by 
blood !" 

"  Laws  of  mercy,  Doc  Park  !  Talk  about  all  sech  as  that 
fer  a  nigger  !  Why,  we  don't,  me  an'  'Ria,  jes'  for  ourselves, 
we  don't  have  p'wye  more  'n  three  or  four  times  a  week." 


352  MR.  THOMAS    CHIVERS's    BOARDER. 

"That,"  said  the  doctor,  as  in  contempt  for  such  niggard 
ly  abstemiousness — "  that  makes  not  one  speck  of  difference 
in  the  case  I'm  putting  to  you  now,  Tom  Chivers.  I  want 
old  Ryal  to  have  all  those  things ;  of  course  not  exactly  all 
at  one  meal,  but  as  many  as  he  fancies,  three — times — a — 
day,  with  snacks  thrown  in  between  whenever  he  wants  or 
thinks  he  wants  them.  I  know  I  can  trust  Mrs.  Chivers 
about  that." 

"  Law,  yes.     'Ria  love  to  feed." 

"  That's  what  I  knew.  I  rather  thought,  until  hearing 
how  you've  been  going  on  in  this  case,  that  you  were  a  little 
stingy,  Tommy,  but  I  find  I  was  mistaken." 

"  Doc  Park,"  said  Mr.  Chivers,  not  noticing  this  remark, 
"you  talk  like  you  want  old  Uncle  Ryal  fed  up  an'  pom- 
pered  up  the  same  like — like,  in  fac?,  he  were  a  fightin'-cock." 

"  The  very  word  I've  been  trying  to  think  of  ever  since  I 
been  talking  to  you,  by  George !"  said  the  doctor,  heartily, 
rising,  and  descending  to  the  ground.  "  That  confounded 
rail  kept  it  from  coming  to  me.  Gemini !  You  make  your 
fence-riders  sharp  as  razors.  Now  see  here,  my  fine  land 
lord,  besides  all  that,  and  more  too  that  I  shall  add  as  I  can 
think  of  them  hereafter,  I  want  you  to  go  to  the  Bridge 
and  buy  the  best  flannel  in  the  store,  and  let  Mrs.  Chivers 
have  made  up  some  shirts  and  drawers,  and  from  time  to 
time  I'll  let  you  know  what  else  I  want  done  for  him.  I 
tell  you  it's  going  to  be  an  expensive  business  to  keep  the 
old  man  on  the  line  of  living  I  want  him  put." 

Mr.  Chivers  played  thoughtfully  with  the  tassel  of  his 
cane,  and  revolved  the  questions  that  had  risen  in  his  mind. 
After  some  moments  he  looked  at  his  visitor,  and,  with  the 
firm  voice  of  a  man  who  was  determined  at  length  not  to 
yield  to  an  insidious  temptation,  said, 

"Doc  Park,  I  don't  kccr  how  you  feed  him,  you  can't 


MR.   THOMAS    CHIVERS's    BOARDER.  353 

make  it  come  up  to  them  figgers.  Now  you  jes'  look  at  the 
itom  o'  meal,  and  which  a  peck  a  week  is  the  liighth  that 
any  well  nigger  can  go,  I  don't  keer  whut  his  stomack  ner 
his  appetites  is.  Thar's  one  itom." 

"  Look  here,  Tom  Chivers.  Look  straight  at  me,  sir.  I 
got  no  time  to  follow  you  up  with  your  itoms,  as  you  call 
'em.  All  I  want  is  for  old  Ryal  to  live  like  a  lord— and  a 
fightin'-cock,  both  ;  and  when  we  see  what  the  cost  and  the 
trouble  will  be  to  you,  and  especially  to  Mrs.  Chivers,  we 
can  settle  on  the  price.  But  it  sha'n't  be  under,  or  much 
under,  ten  dollars,  else  you  and  I  got  to  have  a  fight— that 
is,  provided  I  can  ever  catch  you  without  that  stick.  By-by. 
I  got  to  go  to  Jim  Lazenberry's  before  dinner." 

He  remounted  and  rode  away.  Mr.  Chivers  descended, 
and  as  it  was  not  long  before  his  dinner-hour,  and  specially 
as  he  wished  to  report  to  his  wife  the  conversation  just 
held,  he  proceeded  on  towards  the  house.  The  physician, 
hearing  the  whistle  that  he  was  lifting  cheerily,  checked  his 
horse  for  a  moment,  and  turning  his  head  towards  the  mu 
sician,  soliloquized : 

"Tom  Chivers!  if  I  had  the  making  of  a  world,  to  some 
folks,  probably  to  a  considerable  majority,  I  might  give 
longer  legs,  but  I  swear  I  wouldn't  make  a  single  one  of 
'em  anv  more  of  a  man." 


PART  II. 

I. 

MRS.  CHIVERS  agreed  with  her  husband  that  the  figures 
named  by  Dr.  Park  for  the  board  of  old  Ryal,  in  the  event 
of  his  being  cast  upon  them,  were  high  ;  but  she  deter 
mined  to  come  as  near  earning  them  as  possible.  She  was 


354 

a  noted  feeder  to  white  and  black,  home  folk  and  guests. 
Mr.  Wilcher,  the  sheriff,  used  to  say  that  he  couldn't  help 
from  loving  to  have  a  dinner -hour  catch  him  as  he  was 
riding  by  Tommy  Chivers's  house  on  his  official  business. 

On  the  night  of  the  day  when  Dr.  Park  and  Mr.  drivers 
had  their  last  conversation,  the  man  Luke,  having  come 
there  clandestinely,  reported  that  his  master,  acting  on 
Mandy's  account  of  her  father's  motion  to  strike  her,  had 
given  Ryal  notice  that  he  should  withdraw  his  rations. 
Thoughts  upon  the  responsibilities  likely  to  be  devolved 
upon  him  as  a  boarding-house  keeper,  so  far  outside  of  his 
habits  and  expectations,  hindered  Mr.  Chivers  from  finding 
sleep  until  an  hour  later  than  usual,  and  he  did  not  awaken 
on  the  morrow  until  nearly  sunrise.  Bouncing  from  his 
bed  and  slipping  into  his  clothes  —  a  thing  that  he  could 
do  in  less  time  than  most  men  would  consume  in  putting 
on  mere  trousers  —  he  issued  forth  from  his  chamber,  and 
learned  with  some  surprise  that  Hannah,  with  his  wagon 
and  Jim,  his  gig-horse,  had  set  out  by  the  dawn  for  her 
father's  in  order  to  bring  away  the  exile. 

"  What !"  he  exclaimed,  "  that  girl  is  a  grown  woman, 
sure  enough.  Somethin'  got  to  be  done  with  her,  cert'n." 

Without  a  moment's  delay  he  set  out,  and  the  woods,  as 
he  passed  along,  echoed  the  reproductions  of  their  various 
songsters.  Hannah  had  intentionally  provided  against  the 
possible  meeting  of  her  father  and  uncle  that  she  knew 
both  would  rather  avoid,  and  had  sent  by  Luke  instruction 
to  Ryal  to  repair  early  to  the  opening  of  the  grove  in  front 
of  his  master's  place,  where  she  would  meet  him.  She 
was  half-way  on  her  return  when  Ryal  exclaimed, 

"Dar  come  Marse  Tommy.  A  body  don't  need  to  lay 
eyes  on  Marse  Tommy  to  know  he  somewhar  about." 

"  Hello,  Hannah !"  cried  her  uncle,  when  they  had  met. 


MR.   THOMAS    CHIVERS'S    BOARDER.  355 

"Caught  a  runaway  nigger,  er  have  Uncle  Ryal  found  a 
lost  child  ?" 

"Bofe  un  'em,  Marse  Tommy,  I  reckin,"  said  Ryal, 
smiling  sadly.  "  Xo ;  'taint  dat  way,"  he  added,  solemnly. 
"  De  Lord  in  heb'n  sont  her  to  fetch  ine  to  you,  a-knowin' 
I  couldn't  git  to  you  by  myself.  Mist'ess  told  me  befoe  she 
died  to  put  my  'pen'ence  on  de  Lord ;  it  look  like  I  have 
to  put  some  'un  it  on  you,  too,  Marse  Tommy." 

"All  right,  all  right,  Uncle  Ryal.  You  welcome  at  my 
house  as  you  used  to  be.  But,  Hannah,  dad  fetch  it  all ! 
it  look  like  you  told  the  truth  when  you  told  'Ria  you  feel 
like  you  got  so  you  'fraid  o'  nothin'.  Hovvbeever,  no  dan 
ger  in  Jim.  He's  gentle  enough.  Drive  ahead.  Git  up, 
Jim.  No,  I  don't  want  to  ride,  exceptin'  these  two  ponies 
I  always  k'yar  under  me.  Move  on.  Move  up.  Straighten 
that  trace,  Jim,  and  make  'em  git  a  good  breakfast  for  you 
all.  You  want  yourn,  I  know,  whether  the  balance  of  'em 
want  theirn  or  not,  and  I'm  keen  for  mine.  Geet  up,  sir !" 

As  they  trotted  on,  the  invalid  said, 

"  Monst'ous  good  man,  Marse  Tommy.  Mist'ess  allays 
said  he  wouldn't  let  me  suffer  if  he  could  hep  it." 

"  Uncle  Ryal,"  answered  the  child,  "  he's  the  best  man 
in  this  world,  I  believe,  not  excepting  Dr.  Park,  and  hardly 
excepting  old  Mr.  Sanford." 

A  room,  not  expensively  garnished  indeed,  but  cleanly 
swept  and  comfortably  appointed,  awaited  the  boarder. 
It  had  been  occupied  by  two  half-grown  lads,  who  declared 
that  they  were  proud  to  give  it  up  for  that  purpose  and 
take  narrower  quarters  elsewhere  ;  for  Ryal  at  all  times 
had  been  a  favorite  among  black  and  white.  The  old  man's 
outfit  in  furniture  was  far  beyond  satisfactory  ;  and  if  the 
negroes  on  the  place  had  not  been  used  'to  the  greatest 
abundance,  they  might  have  envied  the  sumptuous  menage 


356  MR.    THOMAS    CHIVERS'S    BOARDER. 

that  Mrs.  Chivers  or  Hannah  set  before  him  several  times  a 
day.  As  it  was,  the  younger  children  of  both  races,  though 
not  exactly  hanging  around,  were  wont  to  be  within  con 
venient  call  for  tidbits  of  chicken-pie,  custard,  and  I  could 
not  say  what  all,  that  were  sure  to  be  saved  for -them. 

On  the  day  after  his  arrival  Mr.  Chivers  repaired  to  the 
Bridge,  and,  although  his  usual  orchestral  performance  was 
suspended  as  he  passed  by  the  Blodget  mansion,  Mandy 
observed  him,  and  so  informed  her  lord  and  master,  who 
was  then  at  his  breakfast.  Plad  Mr.  Blodget  been  aware 
of  the  existence  of  the  statute  heretofore  quoted,  it  is  highly 
probable  that  he  would  have  acted  with  less  temerity.  Yet, 
ignorant  and  audacious  as  he  was,  he  knew  well  enough 
that  he  dare  not  defy  public  opinion  out  and  out.  lie 
believed  that  he  might  put  upon  his  brother-in-law  what 
ever  he  pleased,  yet  he  felt  that  the  public  in  this  instance 
must  know,  or  seem  to  know,  the  reasons  for  his  action  ;  so 
after  breakfast  he  rode  to  the  Bridge,  hitched  his  horse  to 
a  rack,  and  dismounting  went  into  the  piazza  of  the  store. 
Mr.  Chivers  was  emerging  just  then,  having  under  his  arm 
the  purchases  he  had  made  wrapped  in  a  bundle.  In  the 
piazza  were  seated  two  of  the  neighbors. 

"  Mawnin',  Tommy,"  said  Mr.  Blodget.  "  Saw  anything 
o'  old  Ryal  ?" 

"Yes,  he's  at  my  house.     Didn't  you  know  it?" 

"  Well,  yes,  I  did  ruther  hear  he  were  thar.  But  I  want 
it  understood  that  I  never  sent  him  thar,  an'  I  ain't  respon- 
shible  fer  him  in  no  ways." 

"  Yes,  sir,  the  old  feller  come  thar  yistidy,  a-lookin'  ruther 
gaunt  in  the  jaws,  an'  I,  er  ruther  'Ria,  she  give  him  some 
victuals.  He  said  you  driv'  him  off." 

"  Did  he  tell  you — the  impident,  deceitful  old  hound ! — 
what  it  wus  fer,  and  that  it  wus  fer  his  impidence  in  wantin' 


MR.   THOMAS    CHIVERS'S    BOARDER.  357 

to  dictate  to  me  about  rny  dimestic  business,  like  be  owned 
me,  'stid  o'  ray  ownin'  o'  him?  Did  he  tell  you  tbem?" 

"  No.  I  never  ast  bim,  ner  he  never  told  me  nary  word 
about  that  ner  them." 

"  Well,  right  here,  in  the  presence  of  Mr.  Bivins  and  Mr. 
Lazenberry,  I  want  it  understood  that  I  never  driv'  that 
nigger  off  complete;  but  that  as  he  have  meddled  with  my 
business,  an'  which  by  good  rights  I  ought  to  of  give  him 
the  cowhide,  I  told  him,  an'  I  told  him  mild,  that  he  would 
git  no  rashins  from  me  'ithout  he  went  to  work  an'  kep' 
his  mouth  shot;  an'  I  want  it  understood,  far  an'  squar', 
that  I  never  sent  him  to  your  house,  that  I  got  nothin'  to 
do  with  him  a-abein'  thar,  an'  that  I  ain't  to  be  hilt  respon- 
shible  fer  it  ner  him." 

"  All  right,  Mr.  Blodgct." 

Mr.  Chivers  puckered  his  lips,  but  he  was  too  polite  a 
man  to  whistle  in  company  except  upon  request. 

"  Tommy,"  said  Mr.  Lazenberry,  noticing  the  bundle, 
that  bad  not  been  wrapped  very  cunningly,  "'pear  like  you 
got  more  flan n in  than  needed  fer  female  purpose.  Young, 
healthy  man  like  you  goin'  to  war  flannin  ?" 

"  Never  you  mind,  Jim.  The  almanic  say  we  goin'  to 
have  a  many  a  cold  spell  of  weather  this  comin'  winter. 
Mawnin'  to  you  all,  gent'men." 

"What  chune  do  he  call  that  he's  a-whistlin'  now,  Jim 
my  ?"  asked  Mr.  Bivins. 

"I  hain't,"  answered  Mr.  Lazenberry  —  "I  hain't  never 
got  complete  the  run  o'  Tommy's  chunes,  they  so  many 
an'  warous ;  but  my  believes  is,  Mr.  Bivins,  that  Tommy 
a-whistlin'  at  the  present  is  what  he  call  'The  Thrasher.' 
You  know  he  always  in  genii  make  his  chunes  hisself  an' 
name  'em  arfterwards,  an'  as  a  common  thing  he  name 
'em  arfter  defferent  birds  an'  sech.  Yes,  sir,  I'm  toler'ble 


358  MR.    THOMAS    CHIVERS's    BOARDER. 

shore  in  rny  mind  that  whnt  he's  a-puttin'  np  now  he  call 
'The  Thrasher.'" 

"  Well,  Tommy's  a  ruther  musicky  little  feller,"  said  the 
old  man,  kindly. 

"That  boy's  whistlin',"  said  Mr.  Blodget,  with  rather 
compassionate  regret,  "an'  his  indulgin'  an'  humorin'  o1 
his  niggers  has  kep'  him  from  getherin'  anywhar  nigh 
the  prop'ty  he  ought  to  of  gethered  before  now,  by  good 
rights.  That  flannin  he's  a-movin'  off  with,  I'll  lay  it  ain't 
fer  him,  an'  my  doubts  ef  it's  fer  'Ria  er  the  childern. 
'Twouldn't  surprise  me  ef  'twas  fer  some  o'  his  niggers  that 
has  laid  claim  to  have  the  rheumatiz  like  old  Ryal." 

When  he  had  left  the  store  Mr.  Lazenberry  said, 

"  Mr.  Bivins,  you  older  man  'n  me.  Can  a  man,  jes'  so, 
palrn  off  his  broke-down  niggers  on  t'other  people  that  way  ? 
Is  they  any  law  fer  sech  as  that  ?" 

Mr.  Bivins  was  a  man  of  very  moderate  means  and  in 
formation  ;  but  he  had  a  widowed  daughter  with  a  respect 
able  property,  and  her  plantation  joined  Mr.  Blodget's ;  so 
he  answered, 

"  I  don't  know,  Jimmy,  as  they  is  any  law  fer  jes'  sech  a 
case  —  that  is,  in  them  words;  but  you  hear  Mr.  Blodget 
say  with  his  own  mouth  that  he  never  sent  the  nigger  too 
Tommy,  ner  palm  him  on  too  him.  Thcy's  a  deffer'nce  right 
thar,  Jimmy,  betwix'  one  thing  an'  another." 

"Yes,  sir;  but  Tice  Blodget  know  mighty  well  that  Tom 
my  Chivers  not  goin'  to  let  no  old  broke-down  family  nigger 
be  sufferin'  anywhar  about  him." 

"That  all  may  be  so,  Jimmy.  I  got  nothin'  to  say,  you 
know  I  hain't,  agin  Tommy  ;  fer  he  is  a  nice,  clever,  accom- 
modatin'  little  feller,  an'  as  good  a  whistler,  ef  not  the  best 
whistler,  I  ever  knowed.  But,  Jimmy,  we  has  to  'member 
that  white  folks  is  white  folks  an'  niggers  is  niggers ;  an' 


MR.  THOMAS  CHIVERs's  BOARDER.         359 

not  only  that,  but  that  corntracks  is  corntracks,  an'  it's  for 
them  reasons  that  I  never  feels  agzactly  like  it  were  my  busi 
ness  to  bother  myself  ner  meddle  myself  with  whnt  people 
that  owns  niggers  does  with  'em  er  does  not  with  'em." 

"  Well,  /  call  sech  conduct  a  blasted  shame,  I  do." 

"I  can't  go  to  that  lenkt,  Jimmy,  it  not  a-bein'  none  o' 
my  business." 

"It  ought  to  be  somebody's.  No  man  ought  to  be  al 
lowed  to  fling  off  his  old  niggers  that's  broke  theirselves 
down  a-workin'  fer  him,  an'  'special'  on  sech  as  Tommy  Chiv- 
ers." 

After  this  retort  the  subject  was  dropped. 

II. 

Under  the  new  regime  Ryal  seemed  to  improve  so  in 
health  that  Hannah,  shortly  after  his  coming,  returned  to 
school.  The  main  trouble  with  the  old  man  was  the  thought 
that  he  had  ceased  to  be  of  value.  He  was  a  type  of  that 
sort  of  slaves  who  in  simple,  humble  faithfulness  have 
never  been  outdone  in  this  world.  Any  sort  of  white  man, 
except  such  as  Cato  the  Elder  or  Ticey  Blodget,  would  have 
felt  shame  to  know  that  in  the  breast  of  this  dependant, 
once  so  prized,  now  discarded,  was  not  only  no  resentment, 
but  a  continued  solicitude  for  his  master's  interests.  lie 
had  been  a  noted  maker  of  baskets  for  cotton-picking,  and 
when,  in  answer  to  repeated  requests  to  Dr.  Park,  he  was 
allowed  to  do  some  of  that  work,  and  he  had  finished  the 
supply  needed  on  the  place,  he  asked  Mr.  Chivers  if  he 
might  make  some  for  his  master. 

"  Bercause,  Marse  Tommy,"  he  urged,  "  dey  ain't  no  nig 
ger  over  dar  ken  make  bastets  sich  as  marster  want.  Mars- 
ter  were  always  mon'sous  pitickler  'bout  de  cotton-pickin' 
bastets." 


300  MR.   THOMAS    CHIVERS'S    BOARDEK. 

Just  then  Dr.  Park  came  up,  and  when  the  request  was 
made  known  to  him,  said, 

"  Look  here,  Uncle  Ryal,  Mr.  Blodget  got  nothing  to  do 
with  you  now,  and  the  less  you  have  to  do  with  hirn  the  bet 
ter.  You  belong  to  the  Inferior  Court  of  this  county  now." 

"  De  Lord  hep  my  soul  an'  body,  Marse  Doctor !  I 
thought  I  b'longed  to  marster  yit,  ef  I  ever  gits  so  I  ken 
be  any  use  to  him." 

"No,  SIR." 

"  Den  don't  I  b'long  to  Miss  Harnah  ?" 

Tears  came  into  his  eyes,  and  there  is  no  telling  what 
Mr.  drivers  might  have  done  if  he  had  not  rushed  off  to 
his  cornfield.  As  it  was,  no  cat-bird  that  ever  lived  on  any 
occasion  indulged  in  more  passionate  utterance  than  that 
which  now  poured  hotly  from  his  mouth. 

"  No,  sir,  you  belong  to  the  Inferior  Court  of  the  county 
and  State  aforesaid,  in  such  case  made  by  the  law  and  pro 
vided,"  said  the  doctor,  with  much  emphasis. 

"Does  you — does  you  mean  de  shaiff,  Mister  Parks  ?  Is 
I  got  ter  go  on  de  block?  De  Lawd  hep  my  soul  an' 
body  !" 

"  I  don't  mean  that,  Uncle  Ryal.  The  sheriff  got  noth 
ing  to  do  with  you.  No  telling  what  he  may  have  to  do 
with  some  other  people  before  long.  But  you  belong,  for 
the  time  being,  to  the  judges  of  the  Inferior  Court.  You 
know  Mr.  Ivy — Mr.  Ephraim  Ivy  ?  He's  one  of  'em.  They're 
five  in  all." 

"Den  I  got  five  marsters!  De  Lord  in  heb'n  know  I 
never  'spccted  to  come  to  dis !  Den  I  s'pose  Marse  Ephom 
an'  dem  will  have  to  'wide  de  bastets  twix'  deyself.  Well, 
well !  I  did  hope  I  mout  not  go  out  de  fambly  tell  I  died." 

"  Look  here,  Ryal,"  said  the  physician,  rather  impatiently, 
"  don't  you  bother  yourself  about  that.  Your  Marse  Tom- 


361 

my  an'  I  will  see  that  you  don't  go  out  of  the  family  for 
good.  Fire  away  on  your  baskets,  if  you  must  work.  But 
you  be  particular.  Whenever  you  get  tired,  do  you  stop. 
Hear?" 

"Yes,  sir,  Marse  Parks;  but  dat  little  work  I  do  ain't 
wuff  nothin',  not  to  one  marster  let  alone — " 

"  Uncle  Ryal,"  said  the  doctor,  softly,  as  he  rose,  "  I 
don't  think  the  time  is  very  far  off  when  you  will  have  but 
one  Master,  and  it  will  be  one  who  will  always  be  good  to 
you.  By-by." 

He  turned  away,  and  with  his  handkerchief  tried  to  press 
back  the  tears  that  rose  to  his  eyes. 

It  was  not  long  before  there  was  a  glut  in  the  basket 
business ;  and  several  of  the  neighbors,  instead  of  stopping 
their  hands  to  have  them  made  at  home,  supplied  them 
selves  at  the  dirt-cheap  prices  set  on  his  work  by  Ryal. 
His  master  heard  of  all  this  and  of  his  supposed  rapid  im 
provement.  One  day,  as  he  was  riding  past,  the  old  man, 
with  a  hammer  in  his  hand,  was  standing  by  the  front  gate, 
to  which  he  had  been  doing  some  simple  repairs. 

"  You  miser'ble, deceitful  scounderl — "  began  Mr.  Blodget. 

"Uncle  Ryal,"  called  Mrs.  drivers,  appearing  that  mo 
ment  on  the  piazza,  "  it's  time  for  you  to  quit  and  come 
for  your  medicine  and  your  tea  and  toast.  How  do,  Mr. 
Blodget  ?" 

"  Howdy,  'Ria  ?  Ruther  curous  piece  o'  business,  Tom 
my  harb'rin'  o'  my  nigger,  an'  bavin'  him  workin'  fer  him 
in  the  broad  open  daytime." 

"  Sooky,"  called  the  lady,  "  blow  the  shell  for  your  Marse 
Tommy." 

"Oh,  never  mind,  Sooky,  never  mind  !  I  jes'  only  make 
the  remark  that  it  look  ruther  curous." 

"  Mr.  Blodget,  you  knew  that  Uncle  Ryal   was  here  as 


3G2  MR.   THOMAS    CHIVERS  S    BOAEDER. 

well  as  you  knew  that  you  had  driven  him  off  from  home. 
I'm  thankful  to  believe  that  you  are  the  only  man  in  this 
neighborhood  that  would  have  used  such  words  as  *  har 
boring  negroes  '  to  a  woman  when  talking  about  her  hus 
band,  especially  one  who  he  knew  wouldn't  and  couldn't 
do  such  a  thing." 

"  Why,  he  !  he  ! '  Ria,  I  thought,  as  the  sayin'  is,  the  gray 
mar'  were  the  better  horse  in  this  case." 

Without  another  word  she  went  to  the  gate,  took  the 
negro's  trembling  hand,  and  led  him  to  his  cabin.  Mr. 
Blodget  looked  at  them  in  silence  for  a  few  moments, 
then  rode  on. 

This  demonstration,  as  Mr.  Chivers  at  length  was  con 
vinced  by  his  wife  and  Dr.  Park,  had  been  made  for  the 
purpose  of  diverting  some  part  of  the  odium  that  Mr.  Blodg 
et  must  know  had  attached  to  himself  for  Ryal's  being 
there. 

"  Mrs.  Chivers  is  perfectly  right,  Tommy,"  said  Dr.  Park. 
"  You  ought  not  to  notice  his  words,  mean  as  they  were,  at 
least  for  the  present.  It's  right  hard,  I  know  ;  but  when 
such  a  fellow  as  Blodget  is  bent  on  hanging  himself  it  is 
well  enough  to  let  him  wind  his  own  rope,  which  he's  doing 
fast.  Take  it  out  in  whistling,  my  dear  friend.  Encourage 
him  to  whistle,  Mrs.  Chivers,  if  you  find  him  needing  it. 
I  need  not  tell  you  both  to  continue  your  gentle  care  of 
poor  old  Ryal.  He  isn't  long  for  this  world." 

"  What,  Doc  !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Chivers.  "  Why,  he  look 
better,  and  he's  a  heap  activer." 

"  Yes,  that's  owing  to  the  good  nursing  he's  had  here  ; 
but  the  thing  is  leaving  his  limbs  and  is  now  after  his 
heart.  When  it  gets  there  the  jig's  up." 

"  The  good  Lord  have  mercy  on  us  all !"  said  Mr.  Chivers. 
Then,  sobbing  as  he  went,  he  rushed  away  to  the  field 


363 

where  his  hands  were  at  work.  Tears  were  in  the  eyes  of 
the  others. 

"They  don't  make  any  better  men  these  days,  Mrs.  Chiv- 
ers,  than  that  little  fellow  rushing  along  yonder." 

"  Dr.  Park,"  answered  the  wife,  "  he's  perfect — he's  just 
simply  perfect.  I  didn't  tell  him  all  the  words  of  Ticey 
Blodget;  for  as  it  was,  I  could  hardly  keep  him  from  go 
ing  over  there  to  see  him  about  it." 

"  I'm  glad  he  didn't  go.  The  thing  is  coming  to  a  head 
fast,  and  it  needs  no  other  forcing  except  what  he  does  him 
self." 

"  But  have  you  no  hope  about  Uncle  Ryal  ?" 

"Almost  none.  My  opinion  is  that  he  will  not  live  six 
weeks  longer." 

"Then  I  must  try  to  get  him  to  send  for  Mr.  Sanford." 

"  A  good  idea !  An  excellent  idea !  Mr.  Sanford  can  do 
him  more  good  now  than  I  can." 

III. 

Two  weeks  afterwards  Mr.  Chivers  set  out  one  morning 
to  the  Bridge  for  the  purpose  of  getting  another  supply  of 
tea  and  loaf-sugar  for  his  boarder.  The  Rev.  Mr.  Sanford 
had  been  to  see  Ryal  on  the  day  before,  and  after  a  very 
satisfactory  conversation  with  him  it  was  understood  that 
at  the  next  conference  of  Long  Creek  meeting-house  Ryal, 
if  pronounced  by  Dr.  Park  able  to  get  there,  would  apply 
for  membership.  Though  not  a  church -member  himself, 
Mr.  Chivers  was  gratified  in  his  mind.  He  was  proud  of 
the  high  standing  that  his  wife  held  in  the  Long  Creek  fel 
lowship,  and  he  sincerely  hoped  that  the  day  would  come 
when  he  might  venture  to  knock  at  that  door  himself. 
Thus  far  he  had  remained  convinced  in  his  mind  that  a 
man  so  fond  of  whistling  tunes  that  were  entirely  carnal 
23 


364  MR.    THOMAS    CHIVERS'S    BOARDER. 

was  not  fit  for  such  solemn  communion.  He  moved  along 
on  this  morning — a  lovely  one  it  was  in  that  season,  the  fall 
of  the  year — with  a  less  sprightly  step  than  usual,  and  in 
comparative  silence.  Among  the  multifarious  muses  of  his 
oft  invocations  there  was  not  one  avowedly  nor  mainly  nor 
even  slightly  religious,  and  he  was  not  a  man  to  desecrate 
solemn  themes  with  songs  of  the  joree,  or  sapsucker,  or 
others  of  a  thoughtless  and  mere  worldly  choir.  He  moved 
along  thoughtfully,  Bobby  the  while  depending  low  from 
the  arm  from  which,  in  all  rnoods  of  his  master,  he  seldom, 
unless  that  master  was  asleep,  was  separated. 

"  Hello,  Tommy  !  Mawnin'.  How  come  I  don't  hear 
you  whistlin'  this  fine  mornin'  ?  Fambly  troubles,  I  sup 
pose.  I  see  you  sum'  your  br'er-in-law." 

The  salutation  reached  him  not  far  this  side  of  the  grove 
in  front  of  Mr.  Blodget's  residence.  It  came  from  Mr. 
Wilcher,  the  sheriff. 

"  Mawnin',  Mr.  Wilcher.     What  ?     I  reckin  not." 

The  officer  drew  from  his  coat-pocket  a  bundle  of  writs, 
selected  one,  and  handing  it  down,  said, 

"  If  that  ain't  you,  I  don't  know  who  it  stand  for." 

The  paper  was  indorsed  thus : 

EPHRAIM  IYY  et  al.— Justices,  etc.,  use  of 

THOMAS  CHIVERS  ) 

vs.  v  ^Assumpsit,  etc. 

TICEY  BLODGET.    ) 

"I  didn't  —  that  is,  I  didn't  expect,  Mr.  Wilcher.— Dr. 
Park  never  told  me — well,  well !  Why,  Dr.  Park—" 

"  I  got  one  agin  him  from  Dr.  Park,  too,  an'  a  bigger  'n 
yourn,"  interrupted  the  officer. 

By  this  time,  having  reached  the  grove,  the  latter  turned 


MB.   THOMAS    CHIVERS's    BOARDER.  365 

in,  and  Mr.  Chivers  in  yet  more  serious  rumination  went 
on.  Several  men,  Mr.  Ephrairn  Ivy  among  them,  bad  come 
to  the  store  on  this  the  first  after  Return-day  for  suits  at  the 
fall  term  of  the  Superior  Court  (knowing  that  the  sheriff 
would  be  along),  in  order  to  ascertain  who  among  the  neigh 
bors  had  been  sued.  Half  an  hour  after  Mr.  Chivers  had 
gotten  there  Mr.  Blodget  rode  up  with  the  sheriff.  His 
face,  as  he  walked  up  the  steps  to  the  piazza,  was  red  with 
passion.  He  had  never  been  sued  before. 

"  Mawnin',  Mr.  Ivy.  Glad  to  see  you.  Mawnin',  gent'- 
men." 

Mr.  Chivers,  as  was  his  wont  whenever  there  were  fewer 
seats  than  persons  to  be  seated,  was  squatted  on  his  haunch 
es  near  one  of  the  piazza-rails.  As  while  bargaining  with 
Dr.  Park  in  the  matter  of  Ryal's  board,  his  mouth  was  upon 
the  head  of  his  cane  and  his  fingers  were  silently  perform 
ing  a  tune  of  extraordinarily  quick  movement.  Mr.  Blodget 
looked  down  upon  him  with  most  angry  contempt  for  some 
moments,  and  seemed  as  if  he  were  revolving  how  to  begin 
an  assault  upon  one  who,  however  contemptible  as  an  adver 
sary,  had  inflicted  upon  him  a  wound  more  painful  than  any 
that  he  had  ever  endured.  He  really  believed  that  he  had 
every  advantage.  The  writ  of  assumpsit,  as  all  know  who 
have  even  a  slight  experience  in  judicial  proceedings,  im 
plies  and  so  alleges  on  the  part  of  the  defendant  a  promise 
to  pay  the  debt  claimed  on  a  certain  day  therein  named, 
and  repeated  refusals  of  demands  therefor.  He  sincerely 
thought,  therefore,  that  Mr.  Chivers  had  sought  to  malign 
and  otherwise  injure  him. 

"  Tommy  Chivers,"  he  said,  at  length,  with  what  mildness 
he  could  command,  "  I  want  to  ast  you,  in  the  presence  o' 
Mr.  Ivy  an'  these  other  gent'men,  if  I  ever  put  my  nigger 
Ryal  at  your  house  as  a  boder." 


366  MR.   THOMAS    CHIVEKS's    BOAKDER. 

"  No,  sir ;  you  did  not,"  answered  Mr.  Chivers,  not  resting, 
possibly  hastening  somewhat,  in  his  music. 

"  So  fur,  so  good.  This  paper  that  Mr.  Wilcher,  the 
sheriff,  have  served  on  me  say  I  did,  and  that  I  promussed 
to  pay  you  nine  dollars  a  munt,  an'  that  time  an'  time  agin 
you  has  made  the  'mand  on  me  fer  the  money.  Is  them  so, 
er  is  they  not  so  ?" 

"They  is  not,  sir,"  answered  Mr.  Chivers,  his  large  gray 
eyes  opening  wide  and  twinkling  as  the  unheard  music  of 
his  clarinet  increased  in  rapidity.  "  Ticey  Blodget,"  he 
continued,  "  I  don't  know  what  that  paper  says,  but  I  never 
told  nobody  that  you  had  promussed  to  pay  me  one  cent 
fer  takin'  keer  o'  poor  old  Uncle  Ryal.  He  come  to  my 
house  a-sayin'  that  you  had  driv'  him  off,  an'  I  sheltered 
him  an'  fed  him.  I  think  myself  the  bode's  high,  but  Dr. 
Park—" 

"  Never  you  mind  about  Dr.  Park.  Less  git  through 
with  the  balance  o'  your  false  chargin's."  He  turned  a 
page  of  the  writ  and  laid  his  finger  on  another  allegation. 
The  while  the  music  ceased,  the  loop  of  Bobby  was  drawn 
slowly  over  Mr.  Chivers's  wrist,  and  his  right  hand  took  hold 
of  the  handle.  The  defendant  resumed,  "  Here's  another 
itom,  an'  which,  ef  it  ain't  as  big  in  amount  o'  money,  it's  the 
meanest  and  the  biggest  lie  you've  told  in  the  whole  con — " 

He  had  gotten  thus  far  in  his  last  speech  when  Mr. 
Chivers,  even  in  the  act  of  rising,  inflicted  with  his  cane  a 
blow  upon  his  head  that  felled  him  to  the  floor.  Imme 
diately  he  puckered  his  lips  and  opened  upon  "  The  Game 
Rooster."  Pausing  a  moment,  as  Mr.  Blodget,  after  mo 
mentary  stunning,  was  preparing  to  rise,  he  cried, 

"  Cler  the  way,  gent'men  !  Cler  the  way,  ef  you  please  ! 
The  chune  me  and  Bobby  got  on  hand  now  have  to  have  a 
plenty  o'  room  an'  a  plenty  o'  ar." 


MR.   THOMAS    CHIVERS'S    BOARDER.  367 

No  mortal  eye  could  have  followed  that  baton  as,  after 
a  multitude  of  gyrations,  all  apparently  coexistent,  it  came 
backhanded,  producing  another  prostration,  when  louder  yet 
rose  the  crow  of  the  exultant  chanticleer. 

"  Hold  on,  Tommy,  hold  on  !"  loudly  cried  Dr.  Park, 
who  at  that  moment,  having  ridden  there  in  full  gallop, 
leaped  from  his  horse,  rushed  up  the  steps,  and  drawing 
away  Mr.  Chivers,  turned,  waited  for  Mr.  Blodget  to  rise, 
then  said, 

"  Mr.  Blodget,  I  don't  know  what  special  provocation  you 
gave  Tommy  for  striking  you  ;  but,  knowing  you  both  as 
I  do,  I  suspect  it  was  sufficient.  I  hoped  you  might  meet 
me  first  after  being  sued  about  old  man  Ryal,  and  you  would, 
but  that  on  my  way  up  the  road  I  was  detained  with  him 
some  longer  than  I  expected." 

"  Dr.  Park,"  said  the  man,  in  rage  ungovernable,  "  I've 
got  to  have  satisfaction  for  all  of  this  oudacious  business." 

"All  right,  all  right,  Mr.  Blodget.  Any  sort  you  want 
from  me  that's  at  all  reasonable  you  can  get,  if  you  haven't 
had  enough.  The  fact  is,  Mr.  Blodget,  whatever  satisfac 
tion  you  are  entitled  to,  if  any,  is  due  altogether  from  my 
self,  as  /  had  the  suit  instituted  in  Tommy's  behalf  and 
without  his  knowledge,  knowing  that  if  he  could  be  in 
duced  to  sue  you  at  all  he  would  insist  upon  putting  his 
claim  at  less  than  it  ought  to  be.  But  before  you  go  any 
further  on  that  line,  let  me  give  you  a  message  Ryal  sent 
you  by  me  less  than  an  hour  ago.  He  said  to  me,  *  Marse 
Doctor,  tell  marster  when  you  sees  him,  I  allays  tried  to  do 
de  bes'  I  could  fer  him.'  What  do  you  think  the  old  fel 
low  did  then  ?  Mr.  Blodget,  Ryal  is  dead!  Mr.  Ivy,"  turn 
ing,  he  said  to  that  gentleman,  "  the  poor,  dear  old  man  was 
very  anxious  to  join  you  all  at  Long  Creek,  and  I  tried  my 
best  to  make  him  hold  out  at  least  for  that,  but  I  couldn't. 


368 

Don't  you  suppose  that  in  such  a  case  they'll  take  the  will 
for  the  deed?" 

"  I  hain't  a  doubt  of  it,  doctor — nary  a  doubt,"  answered 
the  deacon. 

When  Mr.  Blodget  recovered  from  the  stupefaction  into 
which  he  had  been  thrown,  he  looked  round  as  if  he  would 
fain  say  something  appealing,  but  could  not  find  what,  and 
after  a  few  moments  rode  away.  Mr.  Chivers,  going  to  the 
farther  end  of  the  piazza,  wept  for  several  minutes  like  a 
little  child.  Then  he  rose,  and  accompanied  by  Dr.  Park, 
left  for  his  home. 

IV. 

These  were  on  a  Friday.  That  afternoon  one  of  Mr. 
Blodget's  men  came  and  said  to  Mr.  Chivers  that  his  master 
had  sent  him  in  order  to  take  the  measure  of  the  corpse  for 
a  coffin,  and  that  two  others  would  soon  follow  for  digging 
the  grave. 

"  Go  back,  Joe,  and  tell  your  master  that  I  and  Dr.  Park 
have  sent  for  Mr.  Humphrey,  and  that  we'll  attend  to  all. 
Tell  him  he  won't  be  put  to  any  more  expense  about  Uncle 
Ryal." 

This  message  cut  Mr.  Blodget  deeply.  For  the  first  time 
in  all  his  life  he  would  willingly,  gladly  have  taken  a  re 
sponsibility  that  others  had  assumed.  He  felt  that  he  could 
scarcely  dare  to  attend  the  funeral  on  the  following  Sunday 
afternoon, 'at  which  he  had  heard  that  the  Rev.  Mr.  Sanford 
was  to  officiate,  and  he  had  an  indefinable  dread  of  the 
words  that  this  devout,  courageous  man  might  employ. 

On  this  occasion  a  large  company  of  white  and  black 
were  present ;  for  the  deceased  had  been  well  thought 
of  by  all,  and  indignation,  not  loudly  avowed  but  de 
cided,  was  felt  in  view  of  the  circumstances  in  which  his 


MR.   THOMAS    CHIYERS's    BOARDER.  369 

master  had  allowed  him  to  die.  The  coffin  was  borne 
and  rested  on  two  chairs  placed  upon  the  ground  in 
front  of  the  piazza.  The  visitors — a  few  in  the  house 
and  piazza,  mostly  in  the  yard  and  the  space  beyond — lis 
tened  respectfully  to  all  the  services.  A  hymn  was  sung, 
at  which  few  eyes  were  without  tears ;  for  the  negro's 
voice,  especially  in  multitudinous  choir,  has  a  pathos  than 
which  I  have  never  heard  any  music  more  touching.  Af 
ter  an  introductory  prayer  the  preacher  rose,  now  an  old 
man,  with  long  white  locks ;  he  had  gotten  little  educa 
tion  from  schools,  but  a  life  of  virtue,  of  reading,  particu 
larly  of  close,  prayerful  study  of  the  Bible,  and  a  natural 
eloquence  cultivated  throughout  more  than  twoscore  of 
years,  had  made  him  an  eminent  leader  in  his  profession. 
Persons  of  all  the  religious  denominations  spoke  of  him 
with  greatest  respect.  To-day  it  was  evident  that  he  was 
deeply  moved,  and  that  he  was  more  studious  of  his  words 
than  usual.  Sometimes  his  feelings,  profoundly  stirred, 
transported  him,  not  into  anything  like  denunciation,  but 
into  passionate  appeals  that  carried  with  them  solemn  and 
awful  warnings.  After  some  observations  on  the  certainty 
and  solemnity  of  death  and  the  importance  of  due  prepa 
ration  for  the  Judgment,  he  spoke  of  the  lowliness  in  which 
the  life  just  closed  had  been  led ;  of  its  contentment  with 
a  lot  that  excluded  all  chances  of  rising  above  it  in  this 
world;  of  its  faithful,  cheerful  performance  of  work  from 
boyhood  to  an  age  that  perhaps  had  been  made  prematurely 
old  by  that  work's  excess  from  uncommon  zeal  for  the  in 
terests  of  its  master ;  of  its  touching  regret  for  the  failure 
of  the  strength  of  its  prime  for  that  master's  sake,  not  its 
own ;  of  its  appeals  during  its  very  last  days  for  permission 
to  continue  at  work — appeals  that  the  physician  who  tended 
regarded  it  more  humane  to  grant  than  to  refuse ;  and  then 


370  MR.   THOMAS    CHIVERs's    BOARDER. 

of  that  dying  message,  showing  that  thoughts  of  duty  were 
its  very  last. 

"  And  now,  my  friends,"  he  said,  "  I  feel  constrained  to 
say  a  few  words  on  a  subject  that,  delicate  as  it  may  be, 
it  is  equally  important  that  it  be  well  understood.  I  am 
thankful  that  as  far  as  my  acquaintance  extends,  in  the 
main  the  dependent  beings  who  in  the  providence  of  God 
have  been  cast  among  us  are  reasonably  fed,  clothed,  and 
housed,  and  that  they  are  not  overworked  to  a  degree  that 
may  be  called  inhumane.  Any  single  exception  to  that 
rule  is  a  great  wrong,  both  in  a  business  point  of  view 
and  especially  in  the  matter  of  moral  obligation.  Of  all 
creatures  whom  the  good  God  has  made,  man  can  most 
easily  overwork  himself  and  be  overworked  by  others.  Yet 
whenever  this  is  done  it  is  followed  by  disaster  —  disas 
ter  that  is  always  painful,  sometimes  piteous  to  contem 
plate.  The  premature  decay  that  is  sure  to  follow  costs  in 
the  end  more  than  the  value  of  the  extra  work  done  in  the 
period  of  unimpaired  strength  and  activity.  Therefore,  it 
is  bad  economy  in  the  case  of  a  horse  or  an  ox ;  but  how 
much  more  in  the  case  of  a  man,  who,  when  he  fails,  is  of 
all  creatures  most  helpless,  most  useless,  most  troublesome ! 
The  aged  or  overworked  beast  may  be  turned  into  the  past 
ure  and  crop  a  scanty  living  with  little  expense  until  he 
falls,  when  short  is  the  delay  of  death.  But  in  such  con 
dition  a  man  needs  constant  care,  dainty  food,  tender  min 
istrations,  and  these  often  throughout  periods  of  many 
years.  To  a  selfish  man  these  needs  seem  burdensome; 
and  you  and  I  know  some — I  am  thankful  they  are  not 
many — who  provide  for  such  cases  too  poorly,  and  who, 
I  fear,  would  do  more  so  but  for  public  opinion  in  the 
community  and  the  public  law  of  the  State.  It  always 
seemed  to  me  strange  that  with  any  man,  Christian  or 


MR.   THOMAS    CHIVERS's    BOARDER.  371 

heathen,  aged  and  broken-down  servants,  human  or  lower 
animal,  after  long-continued,  faithful,  too  laborious  service, 
could  be  neglected  by  their  owners,  or  even  be  parted  from 
by  them,  when  able  to  provide  for  those  peculiar  needs  that 
only  remembrance  and  gratitude  can  make  a  man  fully 
competent  to  supply.  Now,  among  us,  my  friends,  who 
live  in  the  light  of  the  Christian  faith,  there  is  not  one  who, 
even  in  childhood,  has  not  learned  that  to  exact  of  any 
dependent  creature  more  of  service  than  it  can  reasonably 
perform  is  a  sin  against  GOD,  and  the  refusal  to  take  care 
of  one  thus  reduced  to  prostration  is  a  GREATER;  and 
when  that  creature  is  a  human  being,  I  tell  you,  what  you 
already  know,  that  every  dollar  thus  gotten  and  thus  saved 
is  the  price  of  BLOOD  !"  Pausing  an  instant,  he  ended  that 
theme  in  low  but  more  appalling  tone,  "And  those  who 
have  thus  gathered  will  see  the  day  when  they  will  feel  like 
going  to  some  holy  place,  and,  like  the  wretched  Judas,  in 
shame  and  remorse  cast  it  upon  the  ground." 

He  looked  upon  the  congregation  in  silence  for  some 
moments,  then  said,  "On  the  subject  of  religious  instruc 
tion  for  the  colored  people  in  our  midst,  I  often  feel  much 
painful  embarrassment.  I  have  never  known  nor  heard  of 
a  man  who  wilfully  hindered  his  servants  from  receiving 
such  as  could  be  rendered  without  inconvenience  to  his  busi 
ness  and  work,  and  as  one  whom,  as  I  humbly  trust,  God 
has  called  to  be  a  minister  of  the  Gospel,  I  feel  ashamed  to 
confess  that  some  of  the  most  willing  in  this  respect,  be 
sides  being  among  the  best,  honorablest,  and  usefulest  citi 
zens,  are  themselves  members  of  no  religious  denomination. 
I  have  often  seen  such  a  man  lean  and  weep  over  a  coffin 
as  if  its  occupant  were  a  dear  friend  or  kinsman,  when 
neither  the  dead  slave  nor  the  living  weeper  had  ever  been 
baptized ;  and  I  have  witnessed  a  like  scene  when  only  the 


372 

master  had  received  this  sacrament,  and  he  could  then  only 
vaguely  hope  that  a  most  merciful  Creator  would  not  drive 
from  His  presence  the  soul  of  him  who  had  gone  without  it. 
How  such  things  can  be,  I  have  many,  many  times  asked 
of  myself.  The  causes,  hidden  somewhere  in  our  state  of 
society,  are  known  to  God,  and  it  is  every  Christian's,  it  is 
every  citizen's,  duty  to  pray  that  he  will  discover  them  to 
us  and  lead  us  to  make  haste  for  their  removal.  I  have 
never  had  a  doubt  that  God  means  in  His  own  good  time 
to  work  out  the  destiny  of  this  dependent  people,  created 
like  us,  in  His  image,  so  that  they  may  equally  contribute 
to  His  glory.  As  it  is  now,  I  say,  in  all  proper  respect 
and  fear,  that  the  master  who  sets  before  his  slaves  evil  ex 
amples,  especially  he  who  hinders  them  from  knowing  and 
pursuing  good,  is  guilty  before  Heaven  of  a  heinous  crime; 
and  I  verily  believe  that  in  that  great  Day  of  Account  the 
condemnation  of  the  sinning  slave  will  be  far  less  awful  than 
that  of  the  sinning  master." 

After  some  other  remarks  under  this  head  he  referred 
again  to  the  deceased  : 

"There  lie  the  decaying  remains  of  what  once  was  the 
best  example  of  strength,  activity,  and  endurance  that  I  and 
you  have  ever  known.  I  say  nothing  of  the  causes  that  laid 
him  there  sooner  than  you  and  I  might  have  expected.  The 
issues  of  life  and  of  death  are  ever  with  God,  and  no  man 
can  say  of  another  that  he  died  before  his  time.  But  oh ! 
rny  friends,  how  prostrate  now  he  lies !  If  that  lifeless 
body  were  all  that  was  left  of  such  a  man,  how  much  more 
would  we  shudder  when  gazing  upon  it !  But  the  all  of 
that  life  was  not  to  live  in  this  world  and  toil  and  grow 
old,  and  end  and  be  no  more.  That  poor  slave  had  an  im 
mortal  part,  distinct  as  that  of  any  among  us  who  are  most 
conscious  of  immortality.  I  firmly  believe  that  it  is  now 


MR.   THOMAS    CHIVERS'S    BOARDER.  373 

beyond  suffering  or  peradventure ;  for,  though  hindered 
from  becoming  a  member  of  the  Church  of  Christ  by  cir 
cumstances  not  to  be  controlled  by  himself  nor  the  kind 
Samaritans  into  whose  hands  he  came  by  the  way-side,  I 
cannot  doubt  that  the  God  of  mercy  accepted  the  will  in 
that  behalf  of  one  who,  in  his  humble  sphere,  had  been 
found  more  than  faithful  to  all  the  duties  that  he  had  been 
led  to  understand.  It  was  like  him,  and  it  was  a  most  be 
coming  end  to  the  earthly  life  of  such  a  man,  to  send  with 
his  dying  breath  to  the  master  whom  he  had  served  that 
fare  well,  which,  when  I  heard  it,  filled  my  heart  with  admi 
ration  and  my  eyes  with  tears.  Believe  with  me,  that  now, 
even  now,  among  the  throngs  whom  no  man  can  num 
ber,  Ryal,  once  a  poor  slave,  is  clothed  in  garments  whose 
dazzling  whiteness  no  mortal  eye  could  endure  to  look 
upon." 

He  paused,  and  few  present  did  not  join  in  the  weeping 
in  which  for  a  brief  time  he  indulged. 

He  concluded  thus : 

"  I  am  sure  that  none  of  my  hearers  can  justly  fear  that 
anvthinor  that  has  been  said  by  me  on  this  occasion  will  do 

•/  O  * 

harm  to  the  colored  people — at  least  in  the  way  of  inciting 
them  to  acts  or  feelings  of  insubordination.  They  well 
know  the  necessity  to  keep  faithful  to  the  duties  of  their 
condition.  To  my  mind  never  was  a  ruling  race  more  se 
cure  in  the  possession  of  control  over  one  in  subjection 
than  the  white  people  of  the  South;  secure  not  only  in 
the  means  of  defence  against  insurrection,  but,  and  chiefly, 
in  the  love  and  affection  of  their  dependants.  They  sub 
mit,  uncomplaining,  to  punishments,  even  when  greater  than 
what  is  merited  by  their  wrong- doings ;  and  I  solemnly 
believe  that  nowhere  can  be  found  another  people  so  af 
fectionate,  so  grateful  for  kindness,  so  free  from  resent- 


374 

raent.  My  friends  and  fellow -citizens,  the  very  security 
in  which  your  families  live,  lying  down  at  night,  both 
when  you  are  at  home  and  when  away,  with  doors  un 
locked  and  windows  unbarred ;  the  very  impunity  with 
which  to  a  degree  you  may  oppress  the  humble  beings  who 
are  your  own  chiefest  safeguards,  have  made  the  best  and 
bravest  among  you  most  forbearing  to  them,  least  exacting 
of  unreasonable  service,  most  considerate  to  their  old  age 
and  other  infirmities.  It  is  only  the  coward — but  I  have 
said  enough.  I  pray  God  that  all  of  us,  white  and  black, 
may  learn  well  whatever  this  lesson  was  intended  to  impart. 
Go  in  peace,  and  may  the  blessing  of  God  be  among  you 
and  abide  always !" 

V. 

Mr.  Blodget  would  never  have  exposed  himself  to  the 
lawsuits,  if  he  had  known  of  the  existence  of  the  statute 
under  which  they  had  been  instituted.  Although  he  would 
have  readily  given,  penurious  as  he  was,  a  far  higher  sum 
than  that  sued  for  to  avoid  the  exposure  to  which  he  had 
been  subjected,  yet,  ignorant,  resentful,  combative,  and  be 
lieving  himself  to  have  been  outraged,  he  repaired  to  a  law 
yer  for  counsel.  Nothing  could  have  astonished  him  more 
when  informed  that  defence  would  be  useless  and  would 
subject  him  only  to  greater  mortification. 

"  What !  Can't  a  man  do  what  he  pleases  with  his  own 
niggers?" 

"  Oh  no,  Mr.  Blodget !  Far  from  it.  There  are  many 
thino-s  he  cannot  do  with  them ;  and  one  of  them  is  what 

& 

you  lately  attempted." 

He  left  abruptly  and  went  to  the  office  of  the  court 
clerk.  There  his  resentment,  instead  of  being  abated,  rose 
higher  when  he  was  informed  that  both  suits  had  been 


375 

withdrawn  by  the  plaintiffs'  counsel,  who  had  paid  in  the 
costs  that  had  accrued. 

"  The  devil  you  say  •"  he  exclaimed,  as  he  put  back  his 
pocket-book,  which  he  had  taken  out  for  the  purpose  of 
paying  the  whole.  "Ah!  ha!  they  found  they  couldn't 
git  it,  did  they,  Mr.  Kitchens  ?  I  thought  so  when  I  come 
here,  a-not'ithstandin'  what  that  lawyer  said.  He  told  me 
'twa'n't  worth  while  to  'fend  it.  I  believe  now  they  hired 
him  to  tell  me  so,  to  keep  me  from  prosecutin'  'em  fer  the 
merlicious  prosecutin'  o'  me" 

"  You  speakin'  about  Lawyer  Chanler,  Mr.  Blodget  ?  I 
see  you  comin'  out  o'  his  office." 

"Yes,  he's  the  feller." 

"Well,  I  don't  hardly  think  Lawyer  Chanler  would  of 
give  sech  opinions  onless  he  helt  to  'em ;  an'  my  expeunce 
of  all  lawyers  is  that  they  ain't  apt  to  adwise  a  man  to  go 
an'  pay  up  a  debt  he's  sued  fer  'ithout  they  feel  ruther 
cert'in  in  their  mind  that  it  ain't  worth  his  while  to  'fend 
agin  it ;  and  as  fer  Mr.  Chanler,  I'd  about  as  soon  trust  to 
him  fer  good,  solid  adwices  as  any  lawyer  I  know." 

"  What  you  s'posen'  they  stopped  the  suit  for,  then  ?" 

"WTell,  I  did  hear  Dr.  Park  say  him  an'  Tommy  had 
brung  the  suits  mostly  to  let  you  understand  that  you 
couldn't  drive  off  a'  old  broke-down  nigger  jes'  so,  an'  fer 
other  people  to  have  to  take  keer  o'  him  'ithout  payin'  fer 
it.  And  he  said,  Dr.  Park  did,  that  he  never  intended  .from 
the  off-start  to  make  you  pay  him  fer  his  serverses,  because 
he  have  promuss  your  wife  on  her  death-bed  that  he'd  do 
all  he  could  fer  the  old  man  Ryal ;  but  he  have  jined 
along  o'  Tommy  in  fetchin'  suit,  because  he  say  it  were 
a  shame  fer  Tommy  to  have  to  be  put  to  the  expense  of 
takin'  keer  o'  your  niggers  an'  not  get  paid  fer  it." 

"  Umph,  humph  !  he's  mighty  official  about  Tom  Chiv- 


376  MB.   THOMAS    CHIVERS'S    BOARDER. 

ers,  the  little  whelp !  You  know  Tommy  got  a  uncommon 
han'some  wife,  Mr.  Kitchens,  which  she's  the  ekal  o'  two 
sech  as  that  insignificant — " 

"What  you  drivin'  at  now,  Mr.  Blodget?"  said  the  clerk, 
laying  his  pen  on  the  table,  turning  round,  and  looking  his 
visitor  squarely  in  the  face. 

"  Oh !  well,  Mr.  Kitchens,  you  know  they  is  many  an' 
warous  kind  o'  wheels  in  this  world,  an'  'special'  in  this 
country." 

"Yes,  sir,  they  is,  an'  some  of  'em  has  got  nother  hub, 
ner  spoke,  ner  feller,  ner  tire ;  an'  that's  the  case  'ith  the 
one  that's  on  top  o'  your  mind  now." 

"  Oh  !  now,  Mr.  Kitchens,  a  man  oughtn't  to  kick  before 
he's  spurred.  I  ain't  a-insinooatin'  but  what  'Ilia  Chivers 
(she's  my  sister-in-law,  you  know) — 

"  And  she's  my  wife's  cousin,  an'  which  I  got  no  idee 
you  did  know  that,  sir." 

"  That  so  ?"  he  answered,  in  some  embarrassment.  "  I 
did  know  it,  but  I  may  had  forgot  it  when  I  said  the  little 
joke  I  said  jes'  now.  Fer  it  were  a  joke,  an'  a-meanin'  jes' 
only  that  Dr.  Park,  like  other  men  that  has  good  conwer- 
sonal  power,  is  natchel  more  obleegin'  to  people  whar  the 
females  is  interestin'  like  'Ria  is." 
"That's  all  you  meant,  is  it,  sir?" 

"  All,  every  bit,  Mr.  Kitchens.  You  didn't  hear  how  come 
Tommy  to  drap  his  case,  ef  you  know  ?  Tommy  Chivers 
ought  to  know  that  they's  a  off -set  on  my  side  o'  his 
case." 

"  Mr.  Blodget,  I  did  hear  Dr.  Park  say  (for  Tommy  hain't 
ben  here  sence  the  old  man  Ryal's  buryin')  that  even  ef 
Tommy  had  of  wanted  your  money,  an'  which  he  didn't, 
Tommy  say  them  licks  he  give  you  more  'n  offset  his 
account  agin  you." 


377 

"I  —  think  —  it  —  did,  Mr.  Kitchens.  Good  -  day,  Mr. 
Kitchens." 

"  Good-day,  Mr.  Blodget.  You  cert'n  you  meant  nothin' 
wrong  what  you  said  about  Cousin  'Ria  ?" 

"  I  got  nothin'  to  do  'ith  'Ria  Chivers,  Mr.  Kitchens,. 
Tommy  Chivers  owe  me  some  sort  o'  settlement." 

After  he  had  left,  the  clerk,  looking  at  him  as  he  moved, 
said, 

"You  mean  foul-mouth!  I  don't  know  wher  er  not  to 
tell  Tommy  an'  Dr.  Park  o'  your  cussed  insinooashins.  I 
ruther  think  I  won't,  but  let  you  go  on  makin'  your  own 
rope." 

The  sense  of  humiliation  must  be  intense  in  the  breast 
of  a  man  like  Ticey  Blodget  when,  grasping  and  miserly, 
he  is  made  to  keep  in  his  pocket  money  that  he  would 
far  have  preferred  to  pay.  He  felt  himself  yet  lower  de 
graded  in  public  esteem  by  having  been  thus  made  to  sub 
mit  to  waivers  on  the  part  of  the  two  men,  both  of  whom 
he  now  thoroughly  hated.  As  he  rode  on  his  return  past 
the  dwelling  of  Mr.  Chivers,  who  with  his  wife  was  sitting 
in  his  piazza,  he  did  not  salute  them,  but  looked  straight  be 
fore  him. 

"  Tice  is  riled,  'Ria,  as  I  knowed  he'd  be.  I'm  sorry  I 
had  to  hit  him,"  said  the  husband. 

"  I'm  not,"  answered  the  wife.  "  Even  Mr.  Ivy  said  he 
couldn't  see  how  you  could  have  done  different.  You  got 
to  watch  that  man,  Tommy." 

"  Oh  !  I  not  goin'  to  be  bothered  about  Tice  Blodget.  I 
got  my  eye  on  him.  I  jes'  can't  help  from  bein'  troubled 
about  it  on  account  o'  Hannah." 

"  Yes,  that  is  the  pity  of  it ;  but  Hannah  has  the  sense  of 
a  grown  woman  now,  and  it  isn't  going  to  hurt  you  with 
her.  She'll  know  it  oughtn't,  and  it  won't.  She'd  a  heap 


378  MR.   THOMAS    CHIVERS'S    BOARDER. 

ruther,  if  it  had  to  be  done,  for  it  to  have  been  done  by  you 
than  Dr.  Park." 

"Think  so,  'Riar 

"I  think  nothing  about  it.     I  know  it." 

Hannah  had  not  attended  the  funeral,  as  it  was  believed 
advisable  not  to  send  for  her. 

VI. 

As  Mr.  Blodget  rode  on  homeward,  the  events  of  the  last 
few  days  were  partially  dismissed  from  his  mind,  whose 
thoughts  were  now  being  concentrated  upon  a  new  domestic 
trouble.  When  he  had  reached  home,  alighted,  and  entered 
his  house,  not  finding  Mandy,  he  came  out,  and  standing  in 
the  porch  tending  towards  the  kitchen,  called  her  several 
times.  Receiving  no  answer,  he  cried  in  a  loud  voice  to  the 
cook, 

"  You  Hester !  Are  you  all  deef  ?  Don't  you  hear  me 
callin'  Mandy?  Some  of  you'll  have  to  have  your  yeares 
picked  with  a  fence-rail,  er  a  cowhide,  er  a  somethin'  else 
that'll  open  'em.  Whar's  that  gal  ?" 

"  I  'clar'  I  don't  know,  marster,"  answered  Hester  from 
the  kitchen  door.  "  I  see  her  goin'  out  de  gate  'bout  a 
half-hour  ago,  er  sich  a  marter.  She  didn't  tell  me  whar 
she  gwine." 

"  What !  Whyn't  you  keep  her  back,  you  fool  you  ? 
Which  way  did  she  go  ?" 

"Law,  marster!  I  can't  do  nothin'  wid  dat  gal.  She 
went  todes  whar  de  hands  was  a-plonghin'." 

"  Whar's  Luke  ?     Is  he  gone,  too  ?" 

"  Oh  !  no,  marster ;  I  reckin  not,  showly.  He  dar  wid  de 
plough-hands,  I  no  doubts." 

Going  back  into  the  house  and  getting  a  cowhide,  he  set 
out  on  foot  for  the  field  of  which  the  woman  had  spoken. 


379 

Even  before  the  death  of  her  father  Mandy  had  become 
dissatisfied  with  her  position.  The  unswerving  devotion  of 
Luke,  and  consciousness  of  the  dislike  and  suspicion  in 
which  she  was  held  by  the  other  negroes,  had  begun  an 
overcoming  that  at  her  father's  death  was  consummated. 
At  the  funeral  she  sought  a  private  interview  with  Mrs. 
Chivers,  who  was  much  gratified  by  her  change  of  rnirid, 
but  counselled  the  use  of  as  much  prudence  as  was  possible 
to  a  purpose  to  perform  her  duty.  It  was  not  until  Mr. 
Blodget  had  mounted  his  horse  on  that  morning  to  begin 
his  journey  to  the  county-seat  that  she  informed  him  of 
her  wish,  if  he  would  please  give  his  consent,  to  be  mar 
ried  to  Luke  on  the  following  Saturday  night.  He  was 
greatly  surprised,  and  hesitated  whether  to  dismount  or  pro 
ceed  on  his  journey.  Concluding  upon  the  latter,  he  said, 

"  It  shows  whut  thanks  a  man  gits  from  any  of  you  when 
he's  tryin'  his  best  to  be  good  to  you.  You  tell  Luke,  a  in 
fernal  scoundrel —  But  never  mind.  I  got  to  go  to  town 
to-day ;  I  can  settle  with  him  when  I  git  back.  I  did  think 
you  knowed  whut  were  best  fer  your  own  intrusts.  I  know- 
ed  he  didn't  have  the  sense  fer  that,  but  it  can  be  larnt  him, 
I  reckin." 

It  was  not  a  very  prudent  movement  in  Mandy  to  thus 
leave  the  house  ;  but  with  all  her  faults  she  had  much  of 
the  simple  straightforwardness  of  her  father,  and  she  did 
what  she  thought  to  be  best,  or  at  least  the  safest,  for 
Luke.  She  had  gone  to  the  field  once  before  on  that  day, 
and  urged  him  to  join  with  her  in  leaving  the  place ;  but 
Luke,  knowing  the  entire  impracticability  of  such  action,  re 
fused,  and  continued  at  his  work  with  much  dread  for  his 
master's  return. 

The  hands  were  ploughing  in  a  field  near  a  body  of  woods 
that  belonged  to  Mrs.  Harrell,  the  widowed  daughter  of  Mr. 
24 


380  ME.   THOMAS    CHIVERS's    BOARDER. 

Bivins,  whom  a  few  persons  suspected  that  Mr.  Blodget 
might  wed  some  day.  He,  instead  of  going  directly  across 
the  field  (a  thing,  indeed,  that  he  seldom  did),  made  first 
for  the  woods,  which  he  skirted  until  he  came  opposite  the 
laborers.  When  he  had  reached  the  fence  he  quickly  scaled 
it,  and  walking  rapidly  to  Luke,  who  was  turning  his  plough 
and  male  to  begin  on  another  furrow,  said, 

"Drop  on  your  all  fours,  sir,  and  shuck  yourself!" 

The  negro  fell  instantly  to  his  knees,  but  at  that  moment 
a  woman's  voice,  loud,  piercing,  frantic,  coming  out  of  the 
woods,  cried, 

"  My  Godamighty,  man  !  that's  my  husband  !  You  goin' 
to  beat  him  to  death  for  nothin'  but  that?" 

The  prostrate  man  sprang  to  his  feet.  Driven  to  mad 
ness,  Mr.  Blodget,  dropping  the  cowhide  and  drawing  a 
dirk-knife,  struck.  Luke  seized  his  wrist,  and,  wrenching, 
pushed  the  weapon,  yet  in  the  hand  of  his  assailant,  to  the 
hilt  in  his  body. 

"  Take  me  back  home,"  he  said,  before  falling,  to  the  other 
negroes,  "and  send  fer  your  Marse  Tommy  and  Mr.  Sanford. 
Not  worth  while  to  send  fer  Dr.  Park." 

Bold,  reckless  as  he  had  been,  he  could  not  meet  the 
last  enemy  without  endeavors  to  atone.  The  clergyman 
did  not  reach  there  in  time  to  hear  his  confession,  but 
to  the  two  men  whom  only  a  few  hours  before  he  had  re 
garded  his  worst  enemies  he  uttered,  in  what  time  was  left, 
expressions  of  anguishing,  most  abject  remorse.  He  had 
sent  for  them  mainly,  he  assured  them,  that  they  might 
hear  his  dying  admission  of  Luke's  freedom  from  all  guilt 
in  his  death. 

The  fall  term  of  the  Superior  Court  came  on  the  next 
week.  The  Grand  Jury  were  disposed  to  take  no  notice 
of  the  homicide  at  first,  but  afterwards,  upon  suggestion  of 


BOARDER.  381 

some  of  the  most  thoughtful  that  Luke  ought  to  have  the 
benefit  of  a  trial  of  the  facts  before  the  county,  brought 
forth  a  presentment.  The  triers,  after  hearing  the  testi 
mony,  without  delay  rendered  a  verdict  of  "  Not  guilty." 

Not  long  afterwards  Hannah  was  sent  by  her  uncle  and 
Dr.  Park,  whom  her  father,  by  nuncupative  testament,  had 
appointed  executors,  to  a  boarding-school  in  Augusta.  Af 
ter  remaining  there  four  years  she  left  off,  and  a  few  months 
afterwards  was  married  to  Dr.  Park.  The  Blodget  place, 
according  to  appointment  by  the  will,  had  been  sold  three 
years  before. 

Changes  came  over  the  being  of  Mr.  Chivers,  but  with 
less  constant,  decisive  movement  than  he  could  have  wished 
after  the  solemn  scenes  in  which,  though  far  contrary  to  his 
previous  expectations,  he  had  acted  prominent  parts.  It  was 
almost  touching  to  notice  sometimes  how  he  tried  to  be  re 
morseful  because,  with  all  his  efforts  in  that  behalf,  he  could 
not  part  as  fast  as  he  believed  he  ought  from  the  light-heart- 
edness  that  had  followed  him  from  childhood.  To  his  cane 
his  behavior  was  somewhat  peculiar.  This  dear  companion 
of  so  many  years  he  had  loved,  and  so  had  acknowledged 
many  a  time.  But  proud  as  he  had  been  of  its  auxiliary 
service  in  the  matter  of  Bill  Anson's  Rattler,  yet  now  he 
reflected  that  in  a  moment  of  passion  it  had  been  wielded 
with  equal  violence  and  effectiveness  against  the  head  of  a  hu 
man  being,  in  fact  his  own  brother-in-law,  and  him  now  in 
his  grave.  It  would  not  do,  of  course,  for  Hannah  to  ever 
set  eyes  on  Bobby  again,  even  if  it  was  not  a  lesson  due  to 
Bobby  that  he  should  be  retired  from  his  public  career.  He 
rather  thought  so,  and  so  he  laid  him  away  at  the  bottom  of 
the  chest  in  which  his  wife  kept  those  things  that  she  most 
seldom  took  therefrom  for  domestic  or  other  uses.  From  a 


382  MB.   THOMAS    CHIVEKS's    BOARDER. 

remark  made  one  day  by  that  lady  to  Mr.  Sanford,  that  an 
other  lady  thought  she  overheard,  it  was  believed  by  some 
that  in  that  act  of  consignment  Mr.  Chivers  shed  tears. 

The  successor  to  Bobby  (for  gloomy  as  Mr.  Chivers  tried 
to  become,  he  could  not  force  himself  when  on  his  travels 
to  utter  destitution  of  companionship)  was  a  young  hickory, 
slender,  cut  long,  as  if  to  warn  possible  assailants  with  ap 
prehension  of  being  pushed  away,  or  in  the  last  resort 
punched,  if  not  speared.  His  musical  essays  strove  (when 
ever  they  could  think  of  it)  throughout  a  long  period,  with 
varying  success,  to  descend  from  the  exalted  presto  to  which 
only  they  had  been  accustomed,  and  they  ceased  altogether 
long  before  the  adagio  to  which  they  had  felt  it  a  duty  to 
fall.  It  was  many  years  before  he  could  be  gotten  into 
Long  Creek,  and  then  not  without  earnest  disclaimer  of  fit 
ness  for  the  solemn  step. 

"  Well,  well,  Tommy,"  said  Mr.  Sanford,  in  consoling  tone, 
"  the  brethren  are  all  satisfied  that  you'll  try  to  do  as  well 
as  you  can.  More  than  that  even  the  good  Lord  demands 
of  nobody." 


MOLL  AND  VIRGIL. 


"Pattern  of  old  fidelity."— Lady  of  the  Lake, 
"  To  follow  with  allegiance  a  fallen  lord 

Doth  earn  a  place  i'  the  story." 

Antony  and  Cleopatra. 
I. 

FOND,  even  in  boyhood,  of  the  study  of  heraldic  devices 
and  family  descents  and  nomenclature,  I  would  have  liked, 
if  it  had  been  possible,  to  know  how  it  came  about  that  of 
two  children  of  the  same  parents  one  was  called  Moll  and 
the  other  Virgil.  But  both  had  passed  by  some  years  the 
periods  of  their  majority  when  they  first  came  into  our 
neighborhood,  and  so  I  had  only  to  speculate  upon  a  dis 
parity  that  was  so  much  in  favor  of  the  male. 

Although  brother  and  sister,  they  were  not  alike.  The 
former  had,  for  an  African,  a  reasonable  face  and  figure, 
was  lithe,  and  would  have  been  active  but  for  a  lameness  in 
one  of  his  legs,  which  had  been  permanently  bent  at  the 
knee-joint.  This  infirmity  had  been  caused,  as  he  said,  by 
an  attack  of  white-swelling  in  his  boyhood  and  unskilful 
treatment  by  his  physician.  In  spite  of  this  he  was  a  light- 
hearted  man  apparently,  and  he  had  a  jauntiness  that  was 
manifested  even  in  his  gait.  The  sister,  who  was  probably 
ten  years  his  senior,  was  singularly  ill-favored.  Though  not 
regarded  plainly  deformed,  her  great  breast  protruded  over 


384  MOLL    AND    VIRGIL. 

the  rest  of  her  comparatively  small,  short  body,  and  her 
head,  with  its  broad,  flat  face,  as  if  from  regard  to  this 
notable  prominence,  instead  of  sitting  upright  above  her 
shoulders,  was  inclined  backward  several  degrees. 

Their  advent  was  in  this  wise :  As  they  were  passing 
afoot  through  Dukesborough,  southward  bound,  the  woman 
with  a  bundle  under  one  arm,  the  man  with  another  hang 
ing  from  a  stick  across  his  shoulder,  the  latter  inquired  of 
a  knot  of  men  sitting  in  the  piazza  of  Eland's  store  the 
way  to  the  plantation  of  Mr.  Sangwidge. 

"The  plantation  o'  who?"  answered  the  sheriff,  Mr.  Trip- 
lett,  who  happened  to  be  there  on  a  visit  to  the  friends 
around  his  old  home. 

"  Mister  Sangwidge,  sir." 

"Know  no  sech  man.  Know  every  man  in  this  county 
too.  No  sech  man  in  these  parts." 

"Yessir,  marster;  he  'bleeged  to  have  plantashin  not  fur 
b'low  here,  beca'se  he  told  us  so,  and  sont  us  thar." 

"  Who  did  you  say  he  were  ?" 

"  Mr.  Sangwidge — Mr.  Sangwidge,  de  lawyer." 

"Oh!  ah!  that,  indeed.  You  mean  Mr.  Sandidge. 
Sandidge  we  calls  him  about  here,  not  Sangwidge.  What 
you  want  to  know  the  way  thar  for?" 

"  We  b'longs  thar,  marster." 

"B'longs  thar?  How  come  you  don't  know  the  way 
thar,  then,  if  you  belongs  thar,  an'  'in  seb'n  mile  of  it,  an' 
the  main,  straightforrards  public  road  a-leadin'  spang  up 
to  the  very  gate?  Bersides,  I  know  Squire  Sandidge's 
niggers  toler'ble  well,  an'  I'm  pooty  cler  in  my  rnind  that 
I  don't  'member  as  ever  I  see  two  sech  as  you  among  'em. 
I  ain't  perfec'  shore  in  my  mind  in  course,  but  my  s'picions 
is  you  two  niggers  is  other  free  niggers,  er  else  you've 
runncd  away  from  somers." 


MOLL    AND    VIRGIL.  385 

"  No,  sir,  marster  ;  no,  SIR  !"  quickly  answered  the  man. 
"  We  ain't.  Sis  Moll  an'  me  (she's  my  sister,  an'  I'm  her 
br'er),  we  ain't  no  free  niggers ;  ner  we  hain't  no  runned 
away,  we  hain't.  We  b'longs  ter  Mr.  Sangwidge  de  lawyer, 
an'  he  tole  us  to  go  ter  his  plantashiu  somers  b'low  this 
here  town  whar  we  is  now,  an'  dar's  whar  we  makin'  fer, 
ef  we  ever  lives  to  git  dar." 

"Why,  whar  you  ben  so  fur  an'  ben  gone  so  long,  you 
done  clean  forgot  whar  your  homes  is  ?" 

The  woman,  who  had  not  turned  her  face  from  the 
direction  in  which  they  had  been  travelling,  spoke  a  few 
words  to  her  brother  in  a  low  tone. 

"  Ya'as,"  he  exclaimed,  "  dat's  so !  I  cler  forgit  it. 
Here's  our  pass,  marster." 

Mr.  Triplett  having  read  the  paper  handed  to  him,  said, 

"That's  so.  Squire  Sandidge's  own  name,  an'  in  his 
han'write.  I  know  it  good  as  I  do  my  own — better,  in 
fac' ;  fer  I  got  sech  a  little  chance  o'  schoolin'  in  my  day 
that  I  never  learnt  to  write  a  good  solid  han'write,  an'  my 
han'write  mos'ly  in  gener'l  'pends  on  the  kind  o'  pen  I  got, 
an'  them's  so  warous  that  sometimes  I  can't  allays  read  what 
I've  writ  'ithout  takin'  time.  Yes,  sir;  yes,  sir;  here's  a 
regular  pass  to  Moll  an' — what's  that  tother  name?" 

"  Werg'l,  marster,  Werg'l." 

"Yes,  that's  so,  an'  writ  away  yonder  in  Lincoln.  I 
knowed  he  were  in  cote  thar  this  week.  But  yit,  my 
friend,  I  can't  yit  see  how  it  is  that  you  don't  know  the 
way  to  your  own  home,  as  clos't  as  you  are  thar  at  the 
present." 

The  woman  gave  an  impatient  step  forward,  but  stopped 
instantly,  as  her  brother  began  to  satisfy  Mr.  Triplett's  last 
doubt. 

"  Well,  you  see  now,  marster,  we  ain't  not — I  mean  me 


386  MOLL    AND    VIRGIL. 

an'  sis'  Moll— we  ain't  miver  ben  dar,  an'  dat  what  make 
me  'quirV  de  way  dar.  Beca'se,  you  see,  marster,  we  ain't 
ben  b'longin'  to  Mr.  Sannidge,  exceptin'  sence  day  befo' 
yistiddy." 

"Ah,  that,  indeed !  Now  we  gittin'  to  the  merit  o'  the 
case,  as  them  lawyers  says.  Mr.  Sandidge  bought  you  two, 
did  he?" 

"He  not  zackly  bought  us,  marster,  out  an'  out,  jes'  so." 
"  How  then — traded  fer  you  ?  swapped  fer  you  ?" 
"No,  sir;   no,  sir.      You    see,  marster,  our    marster — I 
talkin'   'bout   de   one   we   had  fer  marster  up  to-day  'fo' 
yistiddy.     That  was  in  Linkin  County,  down  dar  close  by 
Owl  Ferry.     I  reckon  you  know  whar  dat  is." 

"  Oh  yes,  thar  er  tharbout.  I've  heerd  of  it ;  go  ahead. 
You're  all  right.  This  paper  make  you  that.  But  I  jes' 
natchel  has  the  curiosity  to  know  how  Squire  Sandidge  got 
holt  o'  two  jes'  sech  niggers  as  you  two  is,  an'  that  not 
a-buyin'  of  you,  ner  a-tradin'  fer  you  in  no  sort  o'  fashion." 
"You  see,  marster,"  answered  the  man,  lifting  the  wallet 
from  his  shoulder,  advancing  his  sound  leg  forward,  and 
supporting  the  other  with  his  stick,  "  here  de  way  it  come 
about,  nigh  as  I  could  gether  from  whut  dey  all  said.  My 
marster,  his  name  were  Marse  Billy  White  ;  dey  said  dat  he 
tuck  two  o'  Mr.  Freeman's  hosses  one  night  onperknownst 
to  him,  an'  k'yard  'em  down  in  Clumby,  an'  sold  one  o'  'em, 
an'  were  gwine  sell  de  tother  when  dey  cotch  him.  An' 
den  dey  tuck  marster,  dey  did,  an'  dey  fotch  him  to  town, 
an'  dey  flung  him  in  de  jail,  an'  de  jedge  he  come  dar,  an' 
he  called  de  cote,  an'  Lawyer  Sannidge  an'  a  ner  lawyer 
dey  come  to  de  cote-'ouse  too,  dey  did,  an'  dey  diwided  me 
an'  sis  Moll  an'  de  Ian'  twix  deyself,  de  ter  lawyer  he  takin' 
de  Ian',  an'  Lawyer  Sannidge  he  a-takin'  me  an'  sis'  Moll, 
an'  den  dey  sont  Marse  Billy  to  de  pentenchwy." 


sis  MOLL  AN'  ME  (SHK'S  MY  SISTKR,  AN'  I'M  HER  BR'ER),  WE  AIN'T  NO 
FREE  NIGGERS;  NER  WE  HAIN'T  NO  RUNNED  AWAY,  WE  HAIN'T.'" 


MOLL    AND    VIRGIL.  389 

Loud  laughter  followed  this  account,  in  which  Virgil 
looked  as  if  he  would  have  joined,  but  that  his  sister 
glanced  towards  him  with  warning. 

"  The  lawyers  made  a  clean  sweep,  did  they  ?"  said 
Triplett,  wiping  his  eyes.  "  What  become  o'  the  stock  an' 
plantation  utenchuls,  an'  the  housle  an' kitchen  furniture?" 

"  I  reckon  they  went  to  the  judge,  Virgil  ?"  suggested 
Mr.  Bland,  a  rather  pleasant  man. 

"  Dat  whut  I  sposen,  marster,  dough  I  doan  know  dat, 
case  I  uuver  heerd.  Dey  warn't  so  mons'ous  much  o'  dem, 
noways,  'case  de  mos'  o'  dem  was  done  sol'  fur  debt." 

"  Well,  my  good  people,"  said  Triplett,  kindly,  "  it  was  a 
right  hard  case." 

Then  he  gave  them  the  needed  instructions,  and  they 
proceeded  on  their  way. 

"  That's  jes'  like  Squire  Sandidge :  take  fer  his  fee  all  a 
poor  feller's  got,  ef  he  can  git  it.  I  s'pose  he  thought,  bein' 
in  the  pentenchuwy,  he  wouldn't  need  'em.  An'  in  fac' 
I  know  nothin'  about  the  walue  o'  the  land,  but  them 
niggers  don't  'mount  to  no  great  shakes;  one  lame,  an' 
tother  lookin'  like  a  heathen  idle.  But  he  got  the  'vantage 
of  her  in  thar  names.  Look  at  him  as  he  sa'nters.  He 
walk  like  he  knowed  he  were  name  Virgil  or  some  other 
big  man.  As  for  the  'oman,  she  look  like  she  jes'  as  soon 
be  Moll  as  anything  else.  But  ef  I  ain't  mistakened,  the 
poor  thing  have  got  feelins.  I  don't  know  how  come 
Squire  Sandidge  not  to  sell  'em  in  thar  neighborhood, 
a-knowin'  no  sech  creeters  as  them  could  make  any  friends 
in  a  strange  place.  Howbeever,  I  don't  sposen  he  could  of 

got  nothin'  fer  'em." 

II. 

The  overseer  on  the  plantation  having  reported  that  the 
negroes  newly  arrived  were  of  little  value  in  such  work  as 


390  MOLL    AND    VIRGIL. 

was  there  required,  and  Virgil  claiming  on  his  own  part  to 
be  something  of  a  carpenter,  and  for  his  sister  that  she  was 
a  good  cook  and  washer,  Mr.  Sandidge  removed  them  to 
his  own  residence,  which  was  the  last  at  the  western  end  of 
the  village  containing  the  county  court-house.  A  few 
days  after  the  removal ithe  guard  who  had  been  sent  from 
Milledgeville  to  bring  the  convict  to  the  penitentiary  passed 
through  the  village  on  his  return.  Virgil,  who  was  work 
ing  on  the  front  gate,  recognizing  his  former  master  in  the 
van,  called  to  his  sister.  She  came  forth,  and  both  saluted 
the  unhappy  man,  simply,  and  apparently  without  uncom 
mon  sympathy.  The  guard  having  dismounted  in  order  to 
readjust  some  parts  of  the  harness,  the  woman,  placing  a 
foot  on  the  step,  raised  herself  and  spoke  a  few  words  in  a 
low  voice.  As  they  moved  away,  both  shook  hands,  and 
said,  "Godamighty  bless  you,  Marse  Billy  !" 

Tears  were  in  the  woman's  eyes.  The  guard  said,  "  Looks 
like  them  niggers,  'special'  the  'oman,  think  a  good  deal  o' 
you." 

"She  nursed  me,"  he  answered;  "and  her  brother  and 
I,  being  of  about  the  same  age,  were  playmates.  They 
were  all  I  had,  and  I  might  say  I  was  all  they  had.  They'll 
get  over  it.  I  hope  their  new  master  will  treat  them 
well." 

His  sentence  was  for  fourteen  years,  the  full  limit  of  the 
law.  He  was  a  widower  and  childless,  his  wife  and  two 
children  having  died  a  year  past.  He  had  been  reduced  to 
the  estate  that  he  held  at  his  arrest  by  having  been  forced 
to  pay  a  surety  debt  for  one  of  his  neighbors,  and  it  was 
the  latter's  property  ostensibly  which,  on  failure  by  some 
legal  turn  to  subject  it  to  execution,  he  had  taken. 

"  It  will  be  right  hard  for  a  man  at  forty  to  begin  again, 
with  nothing  to  start  with,  won't  it,  sir?"  he  asked. 


MOLL    AND    VIRGIL.  391 

"  Right  hard.  What  made  you  pay  your  lawyers  so 
much?  They  got  about  all  you  had,  didn't  they  ?" 

"  Everything.  The  lawyers  said  they  could  clear  me,  and 
that  they'd  let  me  have  the  property  back  by  my  giving  a 
mortgage  for  three  hundred  dollars  apiece.  If  the  trial 
hadn't  been  forced  at  this  court  I  could  have  cleared  my 
self,  for  the  horse  I  took  was  mine  by  good  rights,  and 
the  other  I  didn't  take,  but  it  followed  its  mate,  and  I  was 
carrying  it  back  home  the  night  they  arrested  me.  But 
it's  too  late ;  it's  too  late.  Please  don't  ask  me  anything 
more  about  it." 

Though  not  a  church  member,  Moll  was  considerably  ad 
dicted  to  the  singing  of  hymns,  especially  in  periods  of 
mental  depression.  She  and  her  brother  repaired  to  the 
kitchen,  and  for  some  time  their  conversation,  conducted  in 
low  tones,  was  interluded  with  snatches  of  songs  on  a  pro 
portionately  elevated  key : 

"  '  I  thank  my  God  I  ain't  afeard  to  die.' 

Dey  sont  him  for  fo'teen  year,  didn't  dey  ?" 

"Yes,  'm,  beca'se  you  know,  sis'  Moll,  dey  was  two  un'em." 

" '  In  hopes  of  dat  immorchil  crownd 

I  now  de  cross  sistains, 
An'  glad-lie  wanders  up  and  downd, 
An'  smiles  at  t'ils  and  pains.' 

Well,  whut  '11  dat  make  me  an'  you  den  ?  Mistiss  tol'  me 
las'  year  'fo'  she  died  dat  I  were  forty-six  year  old.  Dat 
fetch  me  to  forty-eight,  doan  it?" 

"Yes,  'm." 

"  An'  whut  do  it  fetch  you,  an'  whut  '11  it  fetch  bofe  on 
us,  when  Marse  Billy  time  up  ?" 

As  Virgil  was  making  his  calculations  she  almost 
screamed, 


392  MOLL    AND    VIRGIL. 

" '  How  wa-rie,  how  ti-yud  my  Laws.' 

Me  an'  you,  boy,  got  to  make  an'  lay  up — we  got  to  make 
an'  lay  up,  I  tell  you. 

"  c  I  bain'  got  nothin'  'tall  to  do 
But  wange  Je-woosalem.' 

H— sh— sh !" 

"  I  didn't  know  you  were  such  a  singer,  Moll,"  said  Mrs. 
Snndidge,  coming  to  the  kitchen  door,  evidently  gratified 
by  the  apparent  want  of  painful  concern  at  the  parting. 
Virgil  returned  to  his  work. 

"I  no  gweat  singer,  miss.  I  were  jes'  a-hummin'  a  few 
himes,  a-thinkin'  o'  ole  times." 

"Did  your  poor  master  have  much  to  say  to  you?" 

"No,  ma'am;  jes'  hovvdye  and  goob-by." 

"  I've  no  doubt  you  all  felt  right  bad." 

"Ah,  well,  miss,  dem  dat  goes  agin  de  law,  as  dey  say 
Marse  Billy  done,  dey  has  to  pay  fer  it.  I  nussed  him,  an' 
I  'bleege  to  feel  solumncholy  in  my  mind  when  I  see  him 
gwine  'long  wid  all  dem  chains  on  him,  and  nuver  spects  to 
see  him  no  mo'." 

"  That's  so ;  and  I  think  you  and  Virgil  perfectly  right 
in  feelin'  sorry  for  him.  I  feel  sorry  for  him  myself.  Still, 
the  law,  you  know,  Moll — 

"  Yes,  'm,  yes,  'm ;  oh,  yes,  'm,"  she  answered,  quickly 
and  cordially,  as  if  sympathy  for  the  unfortunate  was  al 
ready  gone.  She  turned  to  her  task,  and  the  two  had  no 
further  conversation  touching  their  late  master  until  late  at 
night,  when  all  others  were  asleep.  They,  especially  the 
woman,  fully  believed  in  his  innocence ;  yet,  whether  inno 
cent  or  guilty,  the  affection  she  had  for  him  was  of  a  kind 
that  in  such  a  spirit  as  hers  endures  throughout  life,  and 
counts  not  the  sacrifices  that  it  can  render.  Virgil,  under  a 


MOLL    AND    VIRGIL.  393 

somewhat  flippant  exterior,  carried  much  resolution,  but 
this  was  not  to  be  compared  with  his  sister's ;  and  though 
her  understanding  was  more  limited  than  his,  he  was  entire 
ly  under  her  control.  She  loved  him  well,  but  not  like  him 
whom  she  had  borne  in  her  arms  in  childhood,  and  who 
now  in  misfortune  and  disgrace — both  to  her  mind  unde 
served — seemed  to  her  to  be  ever  making  appeals  for  help. 

III. 

Considering  the  apparent  difference  in  the  locomotive 
powers  of  Moll  and  Virgil,  it  was  soon  remarked  how  de 
liberate  was  the  gait  of  the  former  compared  with  the  alert 
ness  of  the  latter.  He  never  used  a  cane.  A  habit,  formed 
originally,  perhaps,  from  indulging  his  weaker  member,  had 
imparted  a  jauntiness  that  seemed  to  ignore  any  special  in 
firmity  as  he  swung  alternately  forth  and  back  his  sides  while 
stepping  briskly  along.  He  was  studiously  polite,  especially 
to  white  people,  and  among  those  of  his  race  common Iv 
bore  himself  as  if  in  fairly  favorable  circumstances  he  might 
become  somewhat  of  a  bean,  whereas  down  to  this  period 
both  he  and  his  sister  had  remained  unmarried.  Moll, 
though  diligent  at  work,  elsewhere  was  deliberate,  and  for 
a  woman,  especially  a  negro  woman,  uncommonly  reticent. 
Whenever  she  appeared  on  the  street — at  first  seldom,  af 
terwards  frequently — she  usually  walked  with  her  hands 
folded  across  her  capacious  bosom,  and  her  eyes  looking,  if 
at  anything,  at  objects  quite  above  those  within  anything 
like  horizontal  range.  She  was  slow,  whereas  her  brother 
was  quick,  to  make  new  acquaintances. 

"  Why  don't  you  walk  with  a  stick,  Virgil  ?"  asked  Mr. 
Pucket,  a  young  lawyer  not  yet  engrossed  in  a  large  prac 
tice. 

u  Dem  may  walk  wid  sticks  whut  need  'em,"  he  answered. 


394  MOLL    AND    VIKGIL. 

"  I  ain't  one  o'  dera  ar.  Sticks  wuz  made  fer  ole  people  an' 
sickly  people.  I  not  one  o'  dem." 

It  was  remarked  how  soon  and  with  what  slight  regrets 
he  had  become  domiciled  in  a  community  hitherto  unknown 
to  him.  For  the  negro,  like  the  white  man,  loves  his  native 
home,  and  in  his  way  dreams  of  it  when  absent,  especially 
in  circumstances  like  those  which  had  driven  these  into  virt 
ual  exile. 

"  Bad  business  that  of  your  master,  eh  ?  He  paid  a  high 
price  for  them  horses,  and  lost  them  in  the  bargain." 

"Yessir,  oh,  yessir.  Miss  Sannidge  an'  dat  ter  lawyer 
'min'stered  on  him.  Same  ef  he  been  dead  ;  jes'  lack  he 
'min'stered  on  ole  inarster  when  he  died.  Dey  settled  him 
up  in  short;  but  you  see,  marster,  dem  dat  flings  rocks  mus' 
spec  to  git  flung  at  an'  hit  deyself  some  time." 

"  He  keers  not  a  continental  for  his  master  being  in  the 
penitentiary,"  said  Mr.  Pucket,  as  the  negro  walked  away. 

"He  mayn't,"  answered  Mr.  Triplett,  who  was  standing 
near,  "  but  his  sister  do.  I  see  it  in  her  eyes  when  I  over 
hauled  'em  in  Dukesborough  on  thar  way  here.  From  all 
I  can  gether,  it's  a  right  hard  case.  Most  people  say  the 
fellow  never  meant  to  take  but  one  horse,  which  wouldn't 
of  been  but  fer  six  year  at  the  outside,  and  that  the  tother 
horse,  follerin'  his  pardner,  struck  him  fer  fourteen  ;  and 
there's  them  that  says  that  ef  he  could  of  proved  it,  the  one 
he  tuck  were  his'n  by  good  rights,  and  that  the  feller  that 
he  stood  security  fer  knowed  it.  But  that's  jes'  the  way 
'ith  some  people.  Arfter  they  done  ruined  you  by  your 
helpin'  of  'em,  they  despises  you  an'  want  to  git  you  out  o' 
their  sight.  They  say  Jedge  Mike  charged  p'inted  agin 
him  through  an'  through.  But  that  ain't  oncommon  fer 
him.  Take  it  up  an'  down,  by  an'  large,  from  whut  people 
tells  me,  it's  a  toler'ble  hard  case." 


MOLL   AND    VIKGIL.  395 

Mr.  Sandidge  soon  became  well-satisfied  with  a  fee  that  at 
first  seemed  to  him  below  the  value  of  his  services,  however 
unsuccessfully  they  had  been  rendered.  Virgil  was  found  to 
be  even  more  adroit  in  the  use  of  carpenter's  tools  than  he 
had  represented  himself,  and  having  finished  what  work  was 
needed  on  the  premises,  he  found  that  he  could  earn  about 
seventy-five  cents  a  day  outside.  The  collection  of  bills,  not 
always  solvent,  becoming  troublesome,  his  master  one  day 
said  to  him  that  he  might  hire  his  own  time,  with  the  un 
derstanding  that  he  brought  to  him  every  Saturday  night, 
without  fail,  three  dollars.  Whether  he  was  pleased  with  the 
offer  did  not  appear.  He  seemed  to  reflect  a  space,  then  an 
swered,  "  It's — it's  jubous  business,  marster.  White  folks  is 
mons'ous  oncert'n  'bout  payin'  o'  niggers." 

The  master  was  sitting  in  the  rear  porch,  and  the  man 
standing  on  the  ground.  At  that  moment  Moll,  passing  by 
the  latter  (it  was  nigh  dusk),  without  pausing,  whispered, 
"  Take  it,  you  fool !" 

"  I'll  do  de  bes'  I  kin  fer  you,  marster,"  he  then  said. 
Henceforth  it  seemed  that  for  the  first  time  he  had  begun 
to  take  proper  views  of  life,  as  if  hitherto  he  had  been 
sowing  wild  oats,  and  had  become  satisfied  with  reaping 
their  crop.  Not  that  he  abated  his  respectful  deportment, 
or  the  ready,  sometimes  merry  repartee  to  the  jocose  re 
marks  of  others ;  but  in  these  pleasant  exercises  he  did  not 
linger  now,  as  had  been  rather  his  wont.  When  saluted 
he  would  take  off  his  hat,  dip  his  head,  throw  forth  the 
hearty  reply,  and  proceed  on  his  way  with  a  carriage  which, 
since  his  allowance  of  independent  responsible  action,  was 
enhanced  almost  to  a  swagger. 

On  the  first  Saturday  night  he  was  a  quarter  of  a  dollar 
lacking  in  his  returns. 

"  But  you  see,  marster,  I  'ain't  quite  got  my  han'  in  in 


396  MOLL    AND    VIRGIL. 

de  knowin'  o'  people  an'  findin'  out  who  to  truss.  Den  I 
think  ef  I  could  spread  out  mo'  it  'd  come  easier." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  spreadin'  out?" 

"  Spreadin'  out  over  de  country  furder  like,  to'd  Geechee, 
an'  Buff'lo,  an'  Islant  Creek,  an'  Town  Creek,  an'  all  down 
in  among  dar." 

"  I  don't  care  how  fur  you  spread,  MS  you  call  it,  pro 
vided  you  fetch  the  money  every  Saturday  night." 

"  Jes'  so,  in'  marster.  An'  sometimes  when  I  can't  drap 
my  work  twhell  night,  an'  doan  git  home  tvvhell  Sunday, 
will  dat  do  ?  And  den  sometimes  when  I  gits  here  of  a  night 
arter  you  gone  to  bed,  an'  haf  ter  leave  'fo'  you  gits  up,  ken 
I  leave  de  money  wid  sis'  Moll,  marster?" 

"  Certainly.  However,  that  would  look  rather  hard  on  a 
lame  man.  In  that  case  you  might  fetch  the  money  every 
two  weeks.  But  don't  you  forgit  that  it  will  be  six  dollars 
then  instead  of  three;  and  if  I  or  your  mistress  is  asleep 
when  you  have  to  start  back,  you  can  leave  the  money  with 
Moll.  She's  as  honest  as  you  are,  I  reckon,  if  not  more  so." 

"Dat  so,  marster,"  he  answered,  gayly.  "She  ought  to 
be,  'case  she  older' n  me." 

"  All  right,     That'll  do.     Off  with  you." 

"  Thariky,  marster." 

"You  see  dar  now  whut  I  tol'  you?  Ef  you  hadn't  'a' 
hilt  back  dat  quarter  fer  de  fuss  week  dah  man  'd  'a'  said 
you  made  it  too  easy,  an'  'a'  riz  on  you,"  said  Moll,  at  their 
usual  night  conference.  "I'm  gwine  make  some  money 
too,  ef  de  Lord  spar'  my  life  an'  dah  man  doan  hendsr  me. 
He  wife  white  'oman  wid  some  feelin's  fer  niggers.  Well, 
she  is  dat.  He  keer  no  mo'  fer  niggers  un  he  do  fer  hound 
dogs.  I'll  do  dar  work  ef  dey  don't  press  on  me  too  hard, 
but  I  gwine  make  some  money  fer — fer  Aunt  Peggy.  You 
hear,  Werg'l  ?" 


MOLL    AND    VIRGIL.  397 

"  I  hear,  sis'  Moll." 

"Well,  g'long  off  to  bed.  You  tired  in  dab  sick  leg. 
I  ain't.  G'lang  to  bed,  an'  git  some  sleep,  an'  allays  'mem 
ber  whut  I  tell  you." 

He  went  to  bed.     She  sat  up  many  bours  later. 

IV. 

Mr.  Elam  Sandidge  had  been  joked  a  good  deal  about 
bis  fee  for  sending,  as  Virgil  bad  awkwardly  put  it,  a  client 
to  tbe  penitentiary.  But  now  the  time  had  come  when  he 
could  answer  his  jokers  with  other  than  the  silent  smile 
with  which  he  was  wont  to  listen  to  conversation  that  he 
suspected  was  meant  to  be  regarded  humorous. 

"  Why,  gentlemen,"  he  remarked  on  the  street  one  morn 
ing  after  a  hearty  breakfast,  "  when  I  took  the  confound 
things  I  didn't  think  they  were  worth,  both  put  together, 
as  much  as  a  hundred  and  fifty  dollars,  and  I  didn't  think 
so  powerful  well  o'  the  'sociate  counsel  for  palmin'  'ern  off 
onto  me.  But  as  I  had  no  use  fer  the  feller's  little  piece  o' 
land  away  so  fur  off  over  thar,  I  let  Nellums  have  it  his 
way.  But  I'll  be  confound  if  now  I'd  take  five  hundred 
dollars  apiece  for  them  niggers,  shabby  as  they  looked  and 
does  yit.  I'll  be  confound  if  I  would ;  and  everybody 
knows  that  I  don't  make  a  practice  o'  cussin'." 

Mr.  Sandidge,  indeed,  seldom  "  cussed,"  as  he  conscien 
tiously  called  the  imprecation  just  uttered;  and  whenever 
he  did  he  wished  it  understood  that  he  knew  what  he  was 
talking  about,  and  that  he  was  in  the  habit  of  studying  his 
words  before  using  them.  "  Yes,  gentlemen,  five  hundred 
dollars  apiece ;  and  that's  more'n  three  times  what  the 
land  would  sell  for.  For  the  man,  with  all  his  lame  leg, 
fetches  me  more'n  the  intrust  on  a  thousand  dollars  cler  o' 

expense  o'  both  collectin'  and  feedin'  hisself ;   and  as  for 
25 


398  MOLL    AND    VIRGIL. 

Moll,  well,  I  don't  say  t'other  people,  but  /  never  set  down 
to  sech  victuals  as  she  fetches  to  my  table.  I  positive  hate 
— it  is  positive  hard — to  git  up  from  the  biscuit  and  fried 
chicken  she  fetch  to  my  table,  long  as  any's  left  and  ain't 
eat  up.  I'll  be  confound  ef  it  ain't." 

It  did  almost  seem  as  if  Mr.  Sandidge  was  in  some  dan 
ger  of  ignoring  his  high  professional  position  and  becoming 
a  mere  profane  gourmand. 

And  Moll — poor  old  Moll  White,  as  they  styled  her  at 
first,  she  seemed  so  lonely  and  forlorn,  so  silent,  so  resentful 
for  the  sudden  change  made  in  her  condition,  so  unfit,  so 
undesirous  to  make  new  acquaintances.  Yet  she  had  never 
been  fully  understood.  Doubtless  no  pains  had  ever  been 
taken  to  understand  such  an  inconsiderable  item  in  the  good 
God's  creation.  If  any  had  been,  in  all  probability  they 
would  have  miscarried.  For  the  psychologist,  the  phrenol 
ogist,  the  physiognomist,  the  biologist,  or  any  of  the  other 
great  men  who  make  it  their  business  to  study  life  with 
views  to  the  establishment  of  definitive  sciences,  would 
have  found  Moll  White  hard  to  classify,  even  harder  to 
individualize  satisfactorily,  I  don't  care  in  what  habit  they 
found  her,  whether  around  the  kitchen  fire,  alternately  si 
lent,  soliloquizing,  humming  her  hymns,  or  upon  the  street, 
courtcsying  abstractedly  to  all  whom  she  met,  or  other 
wise  employed.  Now  this  "  otherwise  "  comprehended 
many  simples,  increasing  in  numbers  continually.  For  a 
change  had  come  over  her  lately.  She  manifested  willing 
ness,  even  wish,  to  know  better  the  people  around  her, 
white  and  black.  To  this  end  she  grew  talkative,  visited, 
when  her  mistress  and  her  business  occupations  permitted, 
the  kitchens  or  backyards  of  the  villagers,  not  so  much  to 
know  as  to  become  known,  for  a  purpose  she  had  on  her 
mind.  This  was  generally  understood  to  be  the  getting  a 


MOLL    AND    VIKGIL.  399 

little  money  for  what  extra  work  she  might  find,  for  the 
comfort  of  an  old  aunt  Peggy,  who  had  been  left  behind. 
The  pious  thought  was  much  commended.  Then  her  cook 
ing  and  other  kitchen  and  house  service  were  so  satisfactory 
that  her  mistress  was  quite  willing  for  her,  in  what  was 
termed  Moll's  own  time,  to  work  on  hire  for  others.  A 
plain  woman  was  Mrs.  Sandidge,  who  had  married  her  hus 
band  before  there  was  any  special  promise  of  the  success 
which  he  was  destined  to  attain,  but  who,  notwithstanding, 
had  not  parted  from  her  simplicity  or  goodness  of  heart. 

"  I  do  think,  on  my  soul,  Missis  Triplett,"  she  said  to 
that  lady  one  day,  "  that  that  nigger's  the  industrionsest 
creeter  I  ever  knowed.  When  they  first  come  to  our  house 
I  couldn't  but  laugh,  and  even  git  sort  o'  fretted  'ith  Mis' 
Sandidge  fer  sendin'  'em  there.  But  they've  both  showed 
theirselves  to  be  as  vallible  niggers  as  they  is  any  in  this 
whole  town.  Virgil  brings  or  sends  Mis'  Sandidge  three 
dollars  every  single  Sat'day  night  of  his  life,  and  Moll,  be 
sides  cookin'  and  keepin'  a  cleaner  kitchen  than  ever  /  had 
before,  picks  up  /  don't  know  how  much  in  warious  ways. 
She  do  up  nice  things  fer  Missis  Joyce,  the  Taylor  girls,  and 
I  don't  know  who  all.  She  wash  and  irons  fer  severial  peo 
ple,  white  and  black.  She  mend  and  patches  fer  nigger  men 
who  their  own  wives  is  too  lazy  and  good-fer-nothin'  to  do 
them  fer  'em;  and  here  lately  she  been  goin'  out  before  day, 
and  between  times,  and  getherin'  old  field  plums,  and  arfter 
always  givin'  me  the  pick,  sellin'  the  balance  fer  what  she 
can  git.  And  as  fer  slecpin',  if  that  nigger  git  any  o'  that, 
you  know  when  she  git  it  as  well  as  I  do ;  fer  no  matter 
whut  time  o'  night  you  call  her,  she  not  only  answers,  but 
she  come  a-scootin'  with  her  frock  an'  all  on,  just  as  if  it 
was  the  broad  of  sun  daytime.  I  laugh  at  her  sometimes, 
and  tell  her  she  must  expect  to  git  rich,  or  make  her  aunt 


400  MOLL    AND    VIRGIL. 

Peggy  rich.  She  laugh  back,  she  does,  well  as  she  know 
how  to  laugh,  at  such  a  joky  idee ;  for  she's  a  heap  more 
conversonal  creeter  than  she  were  at  first,  and  look  more  con 
tented  like.  I  couldn't  help  from  bein'  sorry  fer  her  when 
she  come  here  ef  it  had  been  to  of  saved  my  life.  Fer 
ign'nt  as  the  poor  creeter  is,  she's  got  feelin's.  Mis'  San- 
didge  don't  b'lieve  it,  he  say,  any  more  than  a  cow,  but  I 
tell  him  he's  mistakened.  Why,  Missis  Triplett,  I  could  set 
there  in  the  house  an'  tell  her  mind  were  oneasy  when  she'd 
be  try  in'  to  sing  a  hymn  from  the  Cluster,  and  which  they's 
no  more  music  in  her  woice  hardly  than  in  the  m'yowlin'  of 
a  cat,  and  it  sound  like  she  felt  bad  as  a  cat,  and  went  to 
m'yowlin'  because  she  couldn't  help  herself.  And  then  the 
tryin'  to  scrape  up  a  little  somethin'  for  her  old  aunt — Peg 
gy,  as  she  call  her — show  she  have  natch'l  good  feelin's. 
And  as  fer  spendin'  any  of  whut  she  make  on  herself — 
stingy?  Why,  Missis  Triplett,  stingy  ain't  the  word,  ner  I 
don't  know  what  is  the  word  to  tell  how  that  nigger  lay  up 
whut  she  can  gether.  I  try  to  be  good  to  her  as  I  can, 
a-seeing  of  her  so  wobesolemncholy,  so  to  speak,  and  I  do 
think  the  poor  thing  have  got  over  some  of  it.  And  stingy 
as  she  is — and  I  tell  you  now  that  she  make  flour  go  fur 
ther  than  any  cook  ever  /  had  in  all  my  born  days  since  I 
been  house-keepin' — she's  honest  as  the  days  is  long,  to  my 
opinion.  She  keep  her  own  soap  and  starch  siparate  from 
mine ;  but  somehow  I  will  'casion'ly  put  some  o'  mine  along 
with  hern  jest  to  encourage  her  like,  and  show  her  honesty  is 
the  best  policy,  as  the  almanac  says." 

Yet  even  Mrs.  Sandidge  knew  not  all  the  ways  adopted 
by  Moll  to  scrape  bits  of  silver  together  for  her  aunt  Peggy, 
though  she  did  know  of  some  besides  those  mentioned. 
From  the  flour  at  times  received  instead  of  money  she  made 
ginger-cakes.  She  was  never  without  beer,  made  of  dried 


MOLL    AND    VIRGIL.  401 

apples,  until  the  season  of  persimmons  and  honey  locusts. 
She  cobbled  shoes  with  great  skill  for  a  woman — so  the 
negro  men  said.  She  physicked,  on  a  limited  and  extremely 
cheap  scale,  man  and  beast,  haired  and  feathered  tribes.  She 
always  kept  a  little  tar  in  a  keg  sunk  in  the  ground  behind 
the  kitchen,  and  retailed  it  to  wagoners  whose  wheels,  incom 
ing  or  outgoing,  needed  lubricating.  She  sharpened  cutlery, 
and  put  blades  and  rivets  into  dilapidated  knife-handles. 
And  she  did  many  other  things.  She  soon  became  known 
as  a  money-getter  in  all  ways  possible  to  one  in  her  con 
dition,  and  some  that  would  have  been  thought  impossible. 

"  Who  you  goin'  to  leave  your  propt'y  to,  Moll,  when 
you  conclude  to  remove  from  this  mortal  sphere?" 

This  inquiry  was  made  by  young  Mr.  Pucket,  who  thought 
that  one  way  to  get  the  practice  that  he  had  not  yet  was  to 
walk  about  the  streets,  sit  before  the  tavern  and  stores,  and 
make  pointed  remarks. 

"  When  I  do  whut,  Mis'  Puck  ?" 

"  When  you  git  ready  to  shuffle  off  this  sublun'ry  quoil, 
and — as  the  saying  is — peg  out?" 

"Never  you  mind  whut's  to  cum  o'  whut  little  I  ken 
scrape  up  fer  my  ole  aunt.  You  gimme  dat  ter  thrip.  You 
know  dem  brackberries  is  wuff  more'n  seb'npens." 

The  young  men,  after  pretended  chaffering,  used  to  pay 
her  charges,  which  were  quite  as  high  as  she  felt  safe  in 
naming.  Although  not  a  church  member,  and  seldom  at 
tending  religious  service,  yet  she  abstained  on  Sundays  from 
all  work  on  her  own  account.  In  the  afternoons  she  sat 
quietly  in  the  kitchen,  or,  putting  on  her  nice  frock,  sallied 
forth  upon  her  calls.  The  white  ladies  of  the  town  always 
had  some  words  of  kindness  for  her,  and  it  was  in  these 
visits  commonly  that  she  made  engagements  for  the  coming 
week.  Within  less  than  a  vear  she  had  become  as  well 


402  MOLL    AND    VIRGIL. 

known  in  the  town  and  through  a  circuit  of  several  miles  as 
any  native  negro.  Believed  to  be  entirely  harmless,  she  was 
never  molested  in  her  wanderings,  night  or  day,  even  after 
the  hour  when  the  race,  by  corporation  regulations,  were  ex 
pected  not  to  wander  from  their  homes  except  with  written 
permits. 

"  There  goes  a  nigger  yonder,"  one  might  say  to  the 
marshal,  as  a  form  would  be  descried  moving  softly  along 
after  bedtime. 

"  Nobody  but  old  Moll  White,"  would  be  the  answer. 
"  She's  made  at  least  a  quarter,  I'll  stake  my  hat,  some'rs  to 
night,  an'  I'll  take  another  bet  she'll  make  another  quarter 
twix'  this  an'  day.  That  nigger  can  live  'ithout  sleep,  I 
b'lieve.  If  she  ever  go  to  bed  I  don't  know  it,  though 
I  pee-ruses  an'  pre-amberlates  this  town  good  part  an' 
warous  parts  o'  ev'y  single  blessed  night.  It  don't  hardly 
seem  like  to  me  she's  folks.  I  come  up  'ith  her  sometimes 
of  a  night,  and  her  eyes  —  fer  you  can  in  gen'l  see  them 
a-shinin,'  make  no  odds  whut  kind  o'  night  it  is — they'd 
skeer  me  ef  I  hadn't  got  usened  to  'em.  She  don't  agzact- 
ly  seem  to  me  like  she's  folks.  She  don't  look  much  like 
folks,  day  ner  night,  an'  her  actions  is  outlandisher  than  her 
looks.  Jes'  betwix'  us  here,  not  to  go  no  furder,  I  wouldn't 
be  surprised  not  so  powerful  much  ef  somethin'  oncommon 
was  to  happen  to  that  nigger  an'  to  that  Werg'l  too ;  fer 
he  come  an'  go  at  all  hours  o'  night  too,  though  he  do  git 
some  sleep,  beca'se  I've  saw  him  a-noddin'  hard  an'  strong, 
an'  which  I  hain't  yit  saw  that  o'  Moll." 

Mr.  Sandidge  was  not  well  satisfied  with  the  condition 
at  home.  "  That  nigger  goin'  to  break  herself  down,  Betsy," 
he  said  to  his  wife,  "  ef  she  don't  stop  some  o'  her  everlast- 
in'  settin'  up  o'  nights,  an'  projectin'  with  her  var'ous  trades. 
Then  she'll  be  fit  for  nothing,  but  a  dead  expense." 


MOLL    AND    VIRGIL.  403 

"  Now,  Mis'  Sandidge,  don't  you  bother  about  Moll. 
I've  been  a-studyin'  that  nigger.  She  ain't  like  other 
niggers.  She  tells  me  she  git  all  the  sleep  she  want,  and 
she  say  that  not  from  a  child  could  she  ever  go  to  sleep 
when  anybody  try  to  make  her  do  it.  She's  one  o'  that 
kind  that  a  body  have  to  humor  her  to  some  extents  or 
have  trouble  'ith  her.  She's  never  took  as  much  as  a  pin 
from  this  house  since  here  she's  been,  nor  a  dust  o'  flour, 
and  you  know  yourself  that  we've  never  had  such  cooking, 
nor  nothin'  like  it." 

"  That's  what  I'm  a-talkin'  abouj,  and  I  don't  want  to 
give  it  up.  And  as  fer  that  Virgil,  I  ain't  sure  but  that  he's 
got  about  as  much  business  as  ine.  Next  time  I  see  him 
I'm  going  to  tell  him  to  fetch  me  or  send  me  five  dollars 
stid  o'  three  a  week.  I  hain't  a  doubt  he  makes  six." 

"  Law,  Mis'  Sandidge !  do,  pray,  don't  make  that  po' 
one-legged  nigger  do  any  more'n  he's  a-doin'  already.  He's 
payin'  you  well.  You  know  you  tried  to  sell  'em  when 
they  first  come  fer  a  hundred  dollars  apiece,  and  I  heard 
you  tell  Mr.  Perkins  last  week  that  a  thousand  wouldn't 
buy  'em.  You  let  me  an'  them  manage  it,  an'  you  'tend  to 
your  law." 

"Go  ahead,  steamboat — er  I  should  ruther  say,  steam- 
boats" 

Mr.  Sandidge  was  about  to  start  on  the  fall  circuit,  and 
he  thought  he  would  not  then  insist  further  upon  those 
points.  Indeed,  he  was  a  reasonable  family  man,  and  on 
occasions  which  he  was  conscious  of  not  being  able  to  con 
trol,  was  wont  to  yield  with  as  pleasant,  merry  words  as  he 
could  think  of. 

V. 

Meanwhile  the  career  of  the  brother  was  marked  by  yet 
more  notable,  if  not  more  various,  activities  than  that  of  the 


404  MOLL    AND    VIRGIL. 

sister.  Before  his  master's  pecuniary  ruin  he  had  been 
known  as  rather  shiftless,  sometimes  suspected  of  avoiding 
or  slighting'  work  quite  within  his  capacities  on  the  plea  of 
his  lameness.  Since  then  he  had  taken  on  a  better  de 
velopment.  At  this  juncture  especially  it  is  doubtful  if 
any  other  negro  in  the  State  of  Georgia  ever  found  a  great 
er  variety  of  ways  for  getting  the  weekly  sum  exacted  of 
him  and  a  trifle  for  himself,  or,  as  he  always  put  it,  for  his 
aunt  Peggy.  Independent  action,  great  responsibility,  and 
a  tender  regard  for  the  aged  relative  left  behind  near  Owl's 
Ferry  brought  forth  powers  which  even  himself  had  not 
suspected  that  he  possessed.  lie  made  and  mended  fences, 
dairies,  milk -houses,  wheelbarrows,  shoes,  harness,  reels, 
winding-blades,  warping-bars,  looms,  spinning-wheels,  chil 
dren's  cradles,  and  these  not  by  the, day,  but  by  the  job,  for 
he  worked  at  them  night  and  day.  At  night  also  he  waited 
on  young  men,  blacking  their  shoes,  fetching  water,  going 
upon  errands,  and  doing  other,  if  there  were  other,  things.  He 
abjured  the  use  of  tobacco,  except  as  he  could  beg  it.  He 
usually  went  to  bed  before  Moll,  but  this  was  rarely  before 
midnight,  and  both  were  known  to  be,  by  at  least  an  hour,  the 
earliest  risers  in  town,  the  sister  always  calling  the  brother. 

u  Didn't  love  to  sleep  so  much,"  she  would  say  some 
times,  "could  make  some'n  wuff  some'n  fer  —  fer  Aunt 
Peggy.  But  I  s'pose  yer  short  leg  make  you  tired." 

For  the  first  few  months  his  operations  were  confined 
within  the  town  or  its  close  neighborhood,  but  as  his 
acquaintance  became  enlarged,  he  circulated  more  and  more 
widely.  If  his  day's  work  took  him  not  more  than  three 
or  four  miles  from  home,  he  returned  at  night,  and  spent 
the  waking  hours  on  whatever  jobs  he  or  his  sister  had  on 
hand.  He  was  ever  punctual  with  his  weekly  three  dollars, 
always  slowly  making  up  the  last  dollar  with  small  coins, 


MOLL    AND    VIRGIL.  4(J5 

giving  a  grunt  of  thankfulness  for  being  able,  as  he  styled 
it,  "to  squeeze  thoo."  Gradually  he  moved  on  southwardly 
to  Island  Creek,  Town  Creek,  even  the  hither  bank  of  the 
Oconee.  The  very  week  that  Mr.  Sandidge  started  on  the 
fall  circuit,  Virgil,  now  calling  himself  "  Werg'l  Sanwidge," 
crossed  that  river  with  the  view  of  seeking  employment  in 
the  capital  city  of  Milledgeville. 

"Hello!  Whose  nigger  are  you?"  asked  the  principal 
keeper  of  the  penitentiary,  as  he  walked  one  morning  by 
the  new-comer,  who  was  working  on  some  fence  palings  in 
the  neighborhood  of  that  institution. 

"I'm  Werg'l  Sanwidge,  marster.  I  b'long  to  Mis'  San 
widge,  de  big  lawyer.  You  know  o'  him,  I  speck."  Then 
he  drew  out  his  pass. 

"Cert'n'y.  Know  him  well.  Wonder  he  let  niggers 
hire  their  own  time  that  way.  But  s'pose  you  fatten  fer 
nothin'  'bout  home.  What  you  ast  fer  your  work?" 

"I  in  gen'l  works  by  the  job,  marster,  an'  dey  pays  me 
by  de  job." 

"What  can  you  do?" 

"  Mos'  anything  come  to  ban',  marster,  bofe  a-makin'  an' 
a-mendin'." 

"  Why  don't  you  mend  that  short  leg,  then  ?" 

"Ah, "he  answered,  gay  ly,  "  sech  as  dat  beyant  even 
white  folks,  let  'lone  niggers." 

"  I  want  a  little  work  round  and  in  the  penitentiary,  but 
these  confound  nigger  workers  charges  too  high." 

"Ain't  it  dangersome,  marster,  bein'  'bout  dem  white 
men  you  got  penned  up  in  dar  ?  Beca'se  ef  it  ain't,  I'll  do 
your  work,  an'  on  livin'  pay." 

"Dangersome?  Thunder!  Who  you  s'pose  want  to 
hurt  such  a  lookin'  creeter  as  you?  and  them  men  know 
they  couldn't  if  they  wanted  to." 


406  MOLL    AND    VIRGIL. 

After  some  further  parleying,  Virgil  was  engaged,  and 
his  work  was  speedily  acknowledged  by  his  employer  to  be 
satisfactory. 

At  noon  on  the  Saturday  then  ensuing  he  left  off,  saying 
that  as  he  had  not  reported  at  home  in  two  weeks,  he  must 
do  so  now,  but  would  be  again  on  hand  the  next  Monday 
morning.  He  reached  home  late  that  night,  finding  his 
sister  in  expectation  of  him.  They  had  a  talk  of  many 
hours.  They  seemed  at  times  quite  cheerful ;  at  others 
anxious.  Moll  set  before  him  a  good  supper,  and  after 
their  conversation  was  over,  let  him  sleep  some  hours.  An 
hour  before  day,  having  already  gotten  his  breakfast,  she 
aroused  him.  After  he  had  eaten,  she  ripped  the  shuck 
mattress  that  lay  on  his  bed,  took  out  a  bag  some  two 
inches  in  diameter  and  twenty  in  length,  with  stout  cords 
attached  to  either  end,  and  handed  it  to  him,  saying, 

"  You  be  keerful  wid  dat.  Dey's  twenty  dollars  an' 
quarter  and  seb'npens  in  dar.  I  got  ten  dollars  and  thrip 
persides,  but  maybe  I  better  keep  dat  twhell  we  see  how 
dat  doo  Now  you  go.  It's  danjous,  but  it's  wuff  tryin'. 
Ef  I  wuz  a  man  /  could  do  it,  an'  I  hope  Godamighty  will 
let  you  do  de  same.  Go  'long.  Goob-by." 

When  he  was  gone  she  sat  the  remainder  of  the  night, 
her  hands  alternately  folded  over  her  bosom  or  resting 
upon  her  knees.  When  it  was  dawn  she  rose  and  went 
to  her  usual  work. 

"  Where's  Virgil  at  work  now,  Moll  ?"  Mrs.  Sandidge  said, 
Monday  morning,  when  Moll  handed  in  the  avails  of  his 
two  weeks'  labor.  "  He  must  be  some  distance  off  to  be 
gone  two  weeks,  and  have  to  go  back  the  same  night  he 
comes." 

"  He  workin'  down  to'ds  de  'Conee  River,  miss.  I  think 
dah  whut  he  call  it." 


MOLL    AND    VIRGIL.  407 

Virgil's  work  became  so  satisfactory  to  the  penitentiary 
authorities  that  his  first  engagement  was  extended.  His 
occupations  were  so  various  that  he  was  often  thrown 
among  or  near  the  prisoners,  sometimes  attending  upon  a 
squad  that,  under  an  armed  guard,  were  detailed  for  work 
outside  the  walls.  In  this  while  he  had  never  mentioned 
even  the  name  of  his  late  master,  and  was  never  heard  to 
address  a  remark  to  any  of  the  convicts  except  when  it 
seemed  becoming  the  character  of  his  and  their  several  or 
joint  employments.  On  one  afternoon  in  particular  he 
moved  about  with  noticeable  alacrity.  It  had  been  raining 
all  day,  and  the  night  promised  to  set  in  early  and  black. 
In  spite  of  the  weather  he  would  not  withdraw  from  his 
work,  and  although  for  hours  and  hours  his  clothes  had 
been  wet  through  and  through,  he  lingered  until  the  dusk, 
when  he  was  called  by  the  gate-keeper,  who  cried  that  he 
was  about  to  shut  up  for  the  night.  The  convicts  had 
been  remanded  to  their  cells  some  time  ago. 

"  Comin',  marster,  comin',''  he  answered,  cheerily ;  and 
whistling  the  while,  he  walked  from  a  remote  corner,  where 
he  had  been  engaged,  along  the  lower  tier  of  cells. 

"  My  !"  he  exclaimed,  when  he  was  emerging,  "  dish  here 
day  bin  like  one  o'  dem  days  we  used  to  hear  ole  people 
talkin'  'bout  when  we  wuz  boys." 

"  You  or  your  marster,  one  must  love  money,  Virgil,  not 
holdin'  up  from  work  sech  a  day  as  this  have  ben." 

"  Ah,  marster,  when  Sa'day  night  come  dis  nigger  got  to 
k'yar  home  de  money,  rain  or  shine." 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  the  man  to  one  who  was  standing  near, 
as  Virgil  moved  away,  "there  go  the  industr'ousest  creeter, 
white  er  black,  I  ever  come  up  with.  Ef  he  was  my  nigger, 
a  thousand  dollars  might  buy  him,  but  not  nine  hundred 
and  ninety-nine." 


408  MOLL    AND    VIRGIL. 

"  Yet,"  answered  the  other,  "  he  cost  his  marster,  so  they 
tell  me,  jes'  one  speech,  an'  a  mighty  poor  one  at  that,  for  that 
feller  that  was  sent  here  from  Lincoln  for  stealin'  horses." 

"  Is  that  so  ?  Why,  he  never  much  as  peached,  as  I 
know  of,  that  he  even  knowed  the  name  of  anybody  here." 

"  Oh,  I  s'pose  he  were  ashamed  o'  his  old  marster,  an' 
didn't  want  it  knew  that  he  ever  'sociated  with  such  low- 
flung  white  folks.  Some  niggers  is  mons'ous  proud,  an' 
he's  one  of  'em.  Jes'  look  at  him  as  he  go  yonder.  He 
swaggers  hisself  like  he  want  it  knew  that  ef  he  is  one- 
legged,  he  b'long  to  the  astockersy,  he  do." 

"Umph!  humph!  I'll  ast  him  'bout  his  fambly  connec 
tion  to-morrow." 

The  promise  of  the  coming  night  was  fulfilled.  The  rain 
slackened  not,  and  the  darkness  was  intense.  The  town 
clock  sounded  eleven  beats.  One  of  the  guard  had  just 
passed  his  patrol  from  one  of  the  sentry-boxes.  A  few 
moments  afterwards  a  smothered  cough  sounded  from  the 
wall  at  a  spot  which  he  had  passed,  and  was  answered  by  one 
on  the  ground  outside.  Immediately  afterwards  a  ladder 
was  applied  to  the  wall,  and  a  man  rapidly  descended  by  it. 

"  Tang  God  !  tang  God  !  Here,  quick  !  take  dis  bag 
o'  money,  an'  go  fer  life  arfter  we  git  down  dis  larther. 
Hoss  hitch  by  de  big  white-oak  by  de  State-'ouse.  Sis'  Moll 
waitin'  fer  you  all  de  time." 

This  was  said  in  a  loud,  passionate  whisper. 

"  Who  goes  there  ?"  sounded  from  the  wall. 

The  two  men  dashed  away,  and  immediately  afterwards  a 
musket-shot  was  fired. 

"  Run,  Marse  Billy,  run  !"  Then  the  negro  dropped  slow 
ly  to  the  ground.  After  a  few  moments  the  guard,  attended 
by  another  bearing  a  lantern,  descended  by  the  ladder,  and 
walked  rapidly  to  where  he  lay,  one  shot  having  entered  his 


MOLL    AND    VIRGIL.  409 

loin,  and  another  perforated  the  artery  beneath  his  lame 
knee-joint.  When  the  men  came  up  he  raised  his  head, 
peered  with  anxiety  around  for  a  brief  period,  then  smiling, 
lay  down  again,  and  into  his  eyes  came  a  darkness  deeper 
than  that  upon  the  bosom  of  the  night. 

VI. 

"  Something  I  can't  but  think,  is  the  matter  'ith  Moll  to 
day,  Missis  Triplett,"  said  Mrs.  Sandidge,  as  the  latter,  after 
a  brief  visit  on  the  next  forenoon,  rose  to  leave.  "  Hear 
that  mum'lin'  ?  She'd  be  goin'  it  strong  exceptin'  she 
know  you're  in  the  house.  She  ben  a-singm',  or  what  you 
may  call  it,  all  day,  and  sech  wailin's  as  she  make  sometimes 
couldn't  come  from  folks's  ner  nothin'  else's  mouths,  to  my 
opinion,  'ithout  they  had  somethin'  on  top  o'  their  mind. 
They'd  skeer  me  sometimes  ef  I  hadn't  got  uset  to  'em,  an' 
know  they  ain't  no  harm  in  nother  her  ner  them.  I  ast  her 
this  mornin'  ef  anything  troubled  her,  an'  she  said  she  were 
jes'  sorter  oneasy  about  her  aunt  Peggy.  Poor  thing!  I  ben 
thinkin',  Christmas  come,  I'll  git  Mis'  Sandidge  to  let  'em 
both  go  an'  see  their  old  aunt,  they  think  so  much  of  her." 

Mrs.  Triplett  had  hardly  gone  when  a  guard  of  the  peni 
tentiary,  accompanied  by  three  other  men,  rode  up,  and  call 
ing  out  Mrs.  Sandidge,  informed  her  of  the  death  of  Virgil, 
the  enlargement  of  the  convict  White,  and  the  fact  that  the 
latter  had  been  traced  as  far  as  within  a  few  miles  of  the 
town. 

"  Dead !"  exclaimed  Moll,  coming  from  the  kitchen  door, 
where  she  had  heard  the  news,  "  Werg'l  dead  !  Who  kilt 
him  ?"  When  they  had  repeated  the  story,  she  said,  "  How 
come  Werg'l  to  be  dar?  Tole  me  he  were  on  'Conee  River. 
I  tole  dah  boy  be  keerfuler  wid  hisself,  an'  not  be  meddlin' 
wid  business  doan  b'long  to  him.  My  laws  !  my  laws  !" 


410  MOLL    AND    VIRGIL. 

She  turned,  and  was  moving  towards  the  kitchen,  when 
the  guard  called  to  her:  "  Hello,  my  good  'oman,  hain't  saw 
anything  o'  your  ole  rnarster,  has  you  ?" 

"  Whut — whut  you  talkin'  'bout,  white  man  ?"  She  turned 
and  looked  him  full  in  the  eye,  her  great  round  nostrils 
dilating  and  contracting. 

"  I'm  a-talkin'  about  your  marse  Billy,  that  your  br'er 
Werg'l  holp  to  git  out  o'  the  pentenchwy  last  night,  an' 
got  shot  fer  doin'  of  it,  an'  which  it  mout  of  ben  better, 
or  leas' ways  look  more  deservin'  like,  ef  it  had  of  ben  him 
stid  o'  that  po'  nigger.  But  an'  which  that  feller  are  hid 
away  some'rs  'bout;  because  it  stan'  to  reason  that  ef  he'd 
'a'  aimed  to  go  furder,  he'd  'a'  other  not  got  off  the  hoss  he 
rid  twenty  mile  from  Milledgeville,  er  he'd  'a'  tuck  a  fresh  V 
an'  kep'  on  a-scootin'.  An'  which  it's  plain  to  my  mind  that 
he  ain't  wery  fur  from  this  wery  place  whar  we  all  air  at  the 
present.  An'  which  furthersomemore,"  he  said,  more  and 
more  slowly,  as  he  closely  watched  her  face,  "  I'm  authorized 
to  make  an  offer,  in  good  silver  money,  o'  fifty  dollars  to 
them  that's  other  a-harb'rin'  him,  er  can  p'int  to  the  same, 
that  '11  give  him  up  to  me  an'  take  the  money." 

Folding  her  arms  across  her  breast,  she  said,  "  I  can't  tell 
dat  I  knows  nothin'  'bout.  Dey  kill  my  br'er,  de  ownles  I 
got — God  know  he  were — an'  now  dey  come  atter  me." 

The  officer  looked  at  her  steadily  for  some  moments,  she 
as  steadily  returning  his  gaze. 

"'Tain't  ofting  you  find  'em  as  coold  an'  cunnin',"  he 
said,  smiling  to  those  around  him.  "  But  don't  you  see 
that  she's  a-thinkin'  more  'bout  her  ole  marster  this  minute 
than  she  is  'bout  her  own  brother  that's  dead  ?" 

"Oh,  my  poor  Werg'l  !  oh,  my  poor  br'er!"  she  almost 
screamed. 

"  She  know  no  more  about  that  man  than  I  do.     What 


MOLL    AXD    VIRGIL.  411 

you  want  to  be  tormentin'  the  poor  thing  so  for?"  said  Mrs. 
Saudidge,  reproachfully. 

"  Beg  you  pard'n,  madam,"  the  man  answered,  while  dis 
mounting,  and  ordering  his  followers  to  do  likewise ;  "  I 
shell  have  to  s'arch  these  primerses,  but  I  shell  try  to  do  it 
with  little  trouble  as  I  can  help." 

Moll  turned  and  walked  with  her  accustomed  step  to  the 
kitchen,  followed  by  the  hunters.  She  stared  wildly  at  them 
as  they  pursued  their  search,  but  she  spoke  not  a  word. 

"  He  have  ben  here,"  said  the  leader,  while  standing  by 
Virgil's  bed,  "for  these  bedclose,  don't  you  feel  they're 
damp  whar  he  ben  a-layin'  ?" 

When  they  had  searched  the  rest  of  the  premises  in  vain, 
and  were  proceeding  to  the  mansion,  Moll  turned  from  the 
door  where  she  had  been  watching  them,  entered  the  bed 
room  that  once  had  been  her  brother's,  and  throwing  her 
self  upon  the  floor,  said,  in  a  low  voice,  her  eves  seeming 
ready  to  burst  from  their  sockets,  "  My  Godarnighty  !  ef 
dey  takes  dat  chile,  I  want  ter  go  atter  Werg'l." 

Instantly  she  rose  again  and  returned  to  the  kitchen 
door.  Hearing  a  merry  ejaculation  in  an  upper  attic  room 
of  the  mansion,  she  raised  her  hands,  their  fingers  widely 
extended,  and  thus  stood  until  the  party  descended,  with 
their  prisoner  again  in  chains. 

"  Hello !  Molly  put  the  kittle  on,"  said  the  guard,  hold 
ing  up  the  bag  of  money.  "  Ef  I'd  'a'  knowed  you  so  rich, 
I'd  of  knowed  better  'n  to  make  such  a'  offer  as  jes'  a  little 
fifty  dollars." 

She  uttered  a  laugh,  loud,  prolonged,  hideous  in  the 
extreme,  and  her  understanding,  limited  as  it  had  been, 
was  forever  gone. 

The  recapture  of  an  escaped  convict  under  the  law 
resulted  in  an  addition  of  two  vears  to  the  term  of  his 


412  MOLL    AND    VIRGIL. 

imprisonment.  The  case  Lad  created  some  sympathy, 
partly  on  account  of  the  uniformly  good  conduct  of  White 
before  his  attempted  escape,  partly  from  a  rising-  opinion 
in  his  native  county  that  his  intention  had  been,  as  he  had 
pleaded,  to  take  only  one  of  the  horses.  Mrs.  Sandidge 
was  deeply  affected.  What  her  husband's  feelings  were 
none  knew  precisely,  as  he  was  accustomed  to  keep  his 
feelings  and  his  counsel,  when  not  necessary  to  be  ex 
pressed,  to  himself.  The  negroes  had  already  paid  him  at 
least  what  he  had  appraised  them  at,  and  people  said  he 
ought  not  to  complain,  if  he  did. 

Moll's  insanity  took  a  curious  direction.  She  imagined 
herself  a  young  girl,  whose  chief  business  was  that  of  nurse 
to  her  "  marse  Billy,"  who  was  again  an  infant.  She  made 
a  sort  of  doll  out  of  old  clothes,  continually  carried  it  in 
her  arms,  or  sat  and  sang  by  an  unfinished  cradle  in  which 
she  laid  it.  They  could  not  get  her  out  of  the  kitchen 
into  an  out-house  until  they  had  moved  her  cradle  there  at 
a  time  when  she  was  walking  with  her  baby  in  the  yard. 
At  that  time  there  was  no  asylum  for  the  insane  in  the 
State,  and  as  she  was  entirely  harmless,  they  let  her  do  com 
monly  whatever  she  fancied.  Her  physical  health  gave 
way  rapidly,  and  it  soon  became  obvious  that  her  life  was 
tending  to  a  speedy  end. 

In  spite  of  Mr.  Sandidge's  general  imperturbability,  one 
thing  gave  him  an  annoyance  that  he  did  not  attempt  to 
conceal,  at  least  from  his  wife.  I  let  the  latter  tell  of  it, 
as  it  was  the  only  bit  of  fun  that  excellent  woman  could 
indulge  in  a  case  wherein  her  sympathies  led  to  the  shed 
ding  of  many  a  tear: 

"  An'  you  think,  Missis  Triplett,  that  the  poor  thing 
hain't  got  it  intoo  her  head  that  me  an'  Mis'  Sandidge  is 
the  child's  parrents,  an'  whenever  she  see  Mis'  Sandidge  she 


MOLL    AND    VIRGIL.  413 

other  run  an'  hide  her  baby,  er  cry  an'  beg  me  to  not  let 
his  pappy  whip  him  ?  /  don't  mind  it,  not  one  single 
grain  ;  but  Mis'  Sandidge — werried.  Why,  you  don't  know 
how  it  do  werry  him.  Havin'  o'  no  children  o'  our  own, 
he  say  people  '11  laugh  an'  make  game  of  us.  He  even  got 
so,  Mis'  Sandidge  have,  that  he  dodge  her  same  as  she  dodge 
him.  Ah,  well!"  she  seriously  resumed,  "I  do  think  it's 
the  pitifulest  case.  One  poor  nigger  shot  down  onprepar'd, 
an'  the  tother  run  mad,  an'  all  a-tryin'  to  help  the  marster 
they  raised  with.  As  fer  me,  I  can't  but  honor  their  feelin's, 
an'  I  mean  to  humor  that  poor  creeter  an'  be  good  to  her 
as  I  can  while  she  last." 

"  Good  woman,"  said  Triplett,  when  his  wife  repeated  to 
him  this  conversation — "  one  o'  the  best  an'  feelin'est  in  this 
whole  town.  Squire  Sandidge  'shamed  o'  the  bad  grammars 
she  use  in  her  talk  sometimes ;  but  she's  his  equil,  spite  o' 
her  grammars,  an'  he  can't  but  know  it  when  he  think  about 
it.  It  are  right  funny,  the  idee  o'  him  bein'  the  father  o' 
nothin'  but  a  rag  baby.  A  curis  case,  take  it  all  together. 
Yit  it  don't  s'prise  me  no  great  deal.  I'm  gittin'  to  be  of  a 
old  man,  an'  have  knowed  right  smart  o'  people  in  my  time, 
white  folks  an  niggers,  an'  my  expeunce  of  niggers  is  that  in 
gen'l,  whar  a  man  treat  'em  right,  an'  have  ben  raised  'ith  'em, 
they  ain't  a  more  thankfuler  ner  'fectionate  creetcrs  than 
them,  ner  them  that'll  take  bigger  resks  fer  'em." 

Meanwhile  other  things  were  going  on  in  Lincoln.  The 
wife  of  the  man  Freeman,  from  whom  the  horses  had  been 
taken,  by  entreaties  arid  threats  at  last  prevailed  upon  her 
husband  to  make  known  the  fact  that  the  only  animal  in 
tentionally  taken  was  really  the  property  of  White,  who  had 
sold  it  conditioned  upon  reclamation  at  a  certain  date  if  not 
paid  for,  and  that  the  condition  had  been  wilfully  violated. 
The  wretch  filed  his  confession  in  the  County  Court  clerk's 
26 


414  MOLL    AND    VIRGIL. 

office,  and  absconded  to  unknown  parts.  The  revelation 
shocked  the  community  painfully ;  a  petition  for  Executive 
pardon  was  rapidly  and  universally  signed,  and  within  a 
month  after  White's  second  incarceration  he  was  released. 
As  soon  as  this  was  done  he  started  for  his  home.  On 
reaching  the  village  in  which  he  had  been  recaptured,  he 
stopped  at  the  residence  of  Mr.  Sandidge  (who  was  at  his 
office),  and  asked  permission  of  his  wife  to  see  Moll. 

"  Cert'nly,  cert'nly,  sir,"  she  answered  ;  and  leading  the 
way,  she  whispered,  "  The  poor  thing  have  lost  her  mind 
an'  run  distracted.  She's  mighty  weak." 

"  Yes,  ma'am  ;  so  I  heard." 

The  invalid  was  lying  with  her  face  to  the  wall,  her  baby 
upon  her  arm. 

"  Why,  Moll,"  he  said,  "  turn  over.  Howdye.  You  ain't 
forgot  me,  have  you  ?" 

She  turned  herself,  and  looked  first  at  him,  then  at  Mrs. 
Sandidge,  then  at  him  again,  as  he  knelt  by  the  bed.  Slow 
ly,  laughing,  she  said,  "  Well,  I  jes'  do  declar' !  Ef  I  'ain't 
been  a-dreamin'  Marse  Billy  war  a  baby,  an'  me  a-nussin' 
him  !  An'  show  nuff  here  him,  a  gweat  big  boy  !  Dee  Laws 
bless  my  soul !" 

After  another  moment  she  looked  from  him  pleadingly  to 
Mrs.  Sandidge,  and  said,  u  Miss,  please,  ma'am,  doan'  scole 
Marse  Billy  fer  dat.  He  not  went  to  do  it ;  did  yer,  honey  ?" 

But  Moll  did  not  wait  for  the  answer.  Laying  back  upon 
the  pillow  the  head  that  she  had  raised,  she  immediately 
expired. 

Tears  were  in  the  eyes  of  her  new  mistress ;  her  old  mas 
ter  wept,  as  years  before,  at  the  departure  of  his  mother. 

THE   END. 


BY   E.  M.  JOHNSTON. 

OLD  MARK  LANGSTON.    A  Tale  of  Duke's  Creek. 
16mo,  Cloth,  $1  00. 

DUKESBOROUGH   TALES.     Illustrated.      4to,  Paper, 
25  cents. 


Americau  literature  can  fully  care  for  itself  when  it  contains  such  a 
novel  as  this.  .  .  .  The  plot  is  not  the  usual  one,  nor  are  its  details 
worked  out  in  the  ordinary  manner.  The  prominent  characters  are 
veritable  creations.— Hartford  Post. 

The  characters  are  strong,  and  the  Southern  dialect  piquant  and 
amusing  in  its  interpretation. — Boston  Post. 

In  our  opinion,  there  is  nothing  in  contemporary  fiction  to  match  the 
portrayal  of  human  character  to  be  found  in  this  book.  It  is  vivid, 
keen,  and  unerring.—  Atlanta  Constitution. 

The  story  is  full  of  a  quiet  humor,  with  touches  of  deep  pathos,  and 
will  well  repay  the  reader  for  the  time  spent  upon  it. — Christian  at 
Work,  N.  Y. 


The  "  Dukesborough  Tales  "  of  Colonel  Johnston  have  already  ren 
dered  that  Georgia  village  real  and  typical  to  us.  The  homely  wit  and 
simplicity  of  its  inhabitants  have  won  our  ready  sympathy.  .  .  .  He  has 
created,  founded,  and  erected  into  a  regular  borough  the  town  with 
whose  early  history  he  is  quite  at  home.— Baltimore  Sun. 

They  are  among  the  best  character  studies  that  we  have  ever  seen,  the 
characters  in  this  instance  being  such  as  are  native  to  Middle  Georgia 
in  recent  and  ante-bellum  days.  Mr.  Johnston  has  a  keen  sense  of 
humor,  and  understanding  of  the  adaptability  of  common  incidents  to 
the  purposes  of  story-telling.  He  is  a  good  story-teller,  and  is  at  his 
best  when  he  is  not  inventing,  but  remembering;  for  it  is  a  peculiar 
ity  of  these  tales  that  they  read  like  veritable  pages  from  the  real  life 
of  their  actors.  .  .  .  There  are  tales  in  the  collection  which  any  Ameri 
can  writer,  even  the  greatest,  might  be  proud  to  have  written. — iV.  Y. 
Mail  and  Express. 


PUBLISHED  BY  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK. 

J3^""  Either  of  the  above  works  sent  by  mail,  postage  prepaid,  to  any 
part  of  the  United  States  or  Canada,  on  receipt  of  the  price. 


BY  CONSTANCE  F.  WOOLSOK 

EAST  ANGELS,     pp.  592.     16mo,  Cloth,  $1  25. 
ANNE.     Illustrated,     pp.  540.     16mo,  Cloth,  $1  25. 
FOR  THE  MAJOR,     pp.  208.     16mo,  Cloth,  $1  00. 

CASTLE    NOWHERE,     pp.  386.     16mo,  Cloth,  $1  00. 

(A  New  Edition.) 

RODMAN  THE  KEEPER.      Southern  Sketches,      pp. 
340.     16mo,  Cloth,  $1  00.     (A  New  Edition.) 


There  is  a  certain  bright  cheerfulness  in  Miss  Woolson's  writing 
which  invests  all  her  characters  with  lovable  qualities.—  Jewish  Advo 
cate,  N.  Y. 

Miss  Woolson  is  among  our  few  successful  writers  of  interesting 
magazine  stories,  and  her  skill  and  power  are  perceptible  in  the  de 
lineation  of  her  heroines  no  less  than  in  the  suggestive  pictures  of 
local  life.—  Jewish  Messenger,  N.  Y. 

Constance  Fenimore  Woolson  may  easily  become  the  novelist 
laureate.—  Boston  Globe. 

Miss  Woolson  has  a  graceful  fancy,  a  ready  wit,  a  polished  style,  and 
conspicuous  dramatic  power  ;  while  her  skill  in  the  development  of  a 
story  is  very  remarkable.— .London  Life. 

Miss  Woolsou  never  once  follows  the  beaten  track  of  the  orthodox 
novelist,  but  strikes  a  new  and  richly  loaded  vein,  which  so  far  is  all 
her  own  ;  and  thus  we  feel,  on  reading  one  of  her  works,  a  fresh  sen 
sation,  and  we  put  down  the  book  with  a  sigh  to  think  our  pleasant 
task  of  reading  it  is  finished.  The  author's  lines  must  have  fallen  to 
her  in  very  pleasant  places ;  or  she  has,  perhaps,  within  herself  the 
wealth  of  womanly  love  and  tenderness  she  pours  so  freely  into  all 
she  writes.  Such  books  as  hers  do  much  to  elevale  the  moral  tone  of 
the  day— a  quality  sadly  wanting  in  novels  of  the  time.— Whitehall 
Review,  London. 


PUBLISHED  BY  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK. 

The  above  works  sent  by  mail,  postage  prepaid,  to  any  part  of  the 
United  States  or  Canada,  on  receipt  of  the  price. 


BY   W.  D.  HOWELLS. 

MODERN  ITALIAN  POETS.    Essays  and  Poets.    With 
Portraits.     12mo,  Half  Cloth,  $2  00. 

APRIL  HOPES.     12mo,  Cloth,  $1  50. 


A  portfolio  of  delightsome  studies  among  the  Italian  poets ;  mnsings 
in  a  golden  granary  full  to  the  brim  with  good  things.  .  .  .  We  ven 
ture  to  Bay  that  no  acute  and  penetrating  critic  surpasses  Mr.  Howells 
in  true  insight,  in  polished  irony,  in  effective  and  yet  graceful  treat 
ment  of  his  theme,  in  that  light  and  indescribable  touch  that  lifts  yon 
over  a  whole  sea  of  froth  and  foam,  and  fixes  your  eye,  not  on  the 
froth  and  foam,  but  on  the  solid  objects,  the  true  heart  and  soul  of  the 
theme.— Critic,  N.  Y. 

A  more  companionable,  entertaining,  stimulating  work  than  this 
book  has  not  been  printed  for  many  a  day.  It  is  a  book  to  be  stud 
ied  privately,  to  be  read  aloud,  to  be  cherished  and  quoted  and  re 
read  many  times,  and  every  reader  of  it  will  cry  for  more  translations 
from  the  Italian  by  the  same  delight-conferring  pen. — Chicago  Tribune. 

This  is  a  noble  volume,  the  fruit  of  studies  began  twenty  years  ago 
in  Italy.  .  .  .  The  subject  is  discussed  with  all  the  rare  fascination  of 
style  and  thought  which  Mr.  Howells  is  so  well  qualified  to  bring  to  it, 
and  the  volume  will  be  treasured  by  every  lover  of  poetry  of  whatever 
period  or  clime.—  Christian  at  Work,  N.  Y. 

No  living  writer  could  give  us  this  picture  of  a  literary  movement 
with  such  delicacy  of  appreciation  and  discrimination.  The  period 
embraced  is  about  a  century;  the  names  selected  comprise  all  the 
poets  which  a  survey  of  the  movement,  now  over,  distinguishes  as 
principal  factors  in  it. — Hartford  Courant. 

In  culture,  the  critical  power,  and  in  literary  art  these  essays  pos 
sess  qualities  reached  by  no  American,  and  made  more  brilliant  and 
pleasing  by  no  foreign  essayist. — Boston  Globe. 


"April  Hopes"  is  a  specimen  of  Mr.  Howells's  well-known  consum 
mate  art  as  a  delineator  of  young  men  and  maidens,  and  a  chronicler 
of  all  the  fluctuations  of  love  affairs.  From  the  life-like  description  of 
Harvard  Class  Day  and  its  participants,  in  the  opening  chapters,  to  the 
conclusion  of  the  story,  Mr.  Howells  is  at  his  best.— N.  Y.  Journal  oj 
Commerce. 

Mr.  Howells  never  wrote  a  more  bewitching  book.  It  is  useless  to 
deny  the  rarity  and  worth  of  the  skill  that  can  report  so  perfectly  and 
with  such  exquisite  humor  all  the  fugacious  and  manifold  emotions  of 
the  modern  maiden  and  her  lover. — Philadelphia  Press. 


PUBLISHED  BY  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK. 

Either  of  the  above  works  sent  by  mail,  postage  prepaid,  to  any 
part  of  the  United  States  or  Canada,  on  receipt  of  the  price. 


TOWAEDS    THE   GULF. 

A  Romance  of  Louisiana,     pp.  316.     16mo,  Cloth,  $1  00. 


"Towards  the  Gulf"  is  a  tale  of  unusual  power,  whether  considered 
with  regard  to  its  literary  or  artistic  merits.  It  is  a  picture  of  a  phase 
of  New  Orleans  life,  at  once  dreamily  poetic  and  vividly  realistic,  rich 
in  curious  and  felicitous  illustrations  of  personal,  social,  and  local 
traits.  The  dramatic  situations  are  strong,  and  are  skilfully  devel 
oped.  The  Creole  dialect  is  well  handled,  and  life  at  a  cotton  planta 
tion  is  portrayed  with  a  fidelity  which  is  both  charming  and  pictur 
esque.— Observer,  N.Y. 

The  story  is  told  with  a  great  deal  of  skill  and  many  touches  of  just 
sentiment.  .  .  .  The  sketches  of  society  and  manners  in  New  Orleans, 
of  life  on  a  river  plantation  after  the  war,  of  negro  peculiarities,  etc., 
are  striking,  and  the  book  is  distinguished  throughout  by  delicacy  of 
tone.— JV.  Y.  Tribune. 

A  novel  full  of  genuine  interest.  The  pictures  presented  are  varied, 
and  light  and  shade  are  well  blended.  The  descriptive  power  of  the 
author  is  strongly  marked.  .  .  .  The  story  dwells  forcibly  upon  the 
prejudices  and  evil  doings  of  the  men.— Philadelphia  North  American, 

"  Towards  the  Gulf"  is  a  story  which  we  have  taken  real  delight  in 
reading. — Hartford  Daily  Courant. 

The  tale  is  simply  yet  powerfully  told.  .  .  .  The  book  is  certainly  one 
of  the  strongest  romances  lately  published,  and  will  gain  for  its  tal 
ented  and  unknown  author  no  small  meed  of  praise.  —  Springfield 
Union, 

The  scenes  are  well  pictured  and  the  characters  are  well  drawn.— 
Troy  Daily  Press. 

Of  that  exceedingly  small  number  of  novels  having  a  flavor  of  its 
own. ...  It  pulsates  with  life.  There  is  color  and  motion,  and  not  only 
all  the  charm  of  individuality,  but  of  locality,  and  of  a  picturesque 
locality  at  that.— Chicago  Herald. 

It  is  something  to  rejoice  over  that  another  star  has  been  added  to 
the  growing  galaxy  of  Southern  writers ;  for  it  is  impossible  to  sup 
pose  that  any  one  not  Southern  -born  and  bred,  and  imbued  with  all 
the  distinctive  elements  of  Southern  culture,  could  ever  have  written 
this  volume.—  New  Orleans  Picayune. 


PUBLISHED  BY  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK. 

The  above  work  sent  by  mail,  postage  prepaid,  to  any  part  of  the 
United  States  or  Canada  on  receipt  of  the  price. 


THE  ENTAILED  HAT; 

Or,  Patty  Cannon's  Times.  A  Romance.  By  GEORGE 
ALFRED  TOWNSEND  ("Gath").  Pages  x.,  566.  16mo, 
Cloth,  $1  50. 


Neither  Hawthorue  nor  Dickens  ever  painted  their  characters  more 
vividly  than  has  Mr.  Townsend  those  of  Vesta  and  Milburn,  the  owner 
of  "  Steeple  Top."  The  events  which  led  tip  to  the  fatal  night  when 
Vesta  was  informed  of  the  true  condition  of  affairs  are  the  creation  of 
genius.  The  entrance  of  Milburn  into  the  aristocratic  home  of  Judge 
Custis,  to  plead  his  own  case,  and  his  manner  of  doing  it,  is  an  artistic 
piece  of  literary  work  which  will  excite  the  admiration  of  the  critical 
reader.— Chicago  Inter-Ocean. 

The  book  is  remarkable  in  its  local  color,  its  vigorously  drawn  char 
acters,  and  its  peculiar  originality  of  treatment.  The  interest  is  ex 
ceedingly  dramatic,  and  there  is  enough  of  incident  to  furnish  a  half- 
dozen  ordinary  novels.  .  .  .  The  story  is  so  well  told,  and  with  such 
picturesqueness  of  effect  generally,  that  the  reader  is  carried  unresist 
ingly  along  in  the  skilfully  stimulated  desire  to  know  the  final  fate  of 
the  actors  in  the  exciting  drama.  This  romance  is  a  remarkable  one 
in  many  respects. — Saturday  Evening  Gazette,  Boston. 

Vesta  Custis  and  Rhoda  test  the  power  of  the  author  in  drawing 
feminine  characters,  and  he  has  more  than  met  the  demands  made 
upon  him.  They  stand  out  from  the  pages  like  flesh-and-blood  creat 
ures.  Equally  successful  is  the  delineation  of  Patty  Cannon  and  the 
life  of  the  negro  kidnappers.  The  story  moves  rapidly,  and  the  unflag 
ging  interest  of  the  reader  is  maintained  almost  to  the  end.  It  enti 
tles  Mr.  Townsend  to  a  high  place  in  the  ranks  of  American  novelists, 
and  it  wouid  not  be  surprising  if  the  "Entailed  Hat"  held  a  perma 
nent  place  in  American  literature.  We  know  of  no  story  in  which 
the  details  of  American  life  have  been  so  skilfully  used,  except  in  the 
novels  of  Hawthorne  and  Bayard  Taylor. — Philadelphia  Press. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  find  in  recent  fiction  a  lovelier  woman  than 
Vesta,  or  a  more  touching  one  than  the  exquisite  slave  Virgie,  or  a 
stronger  one  than  Milburu,  or  better  portraits  of  the  common  life  of 
the  time  and  place  than  Levin  Dennis  and  Jimmy  Phoebus  and  Jack 
Wonnell.  .  .  .  The  story  has  decided  power  and  originality,  and  is  a 
marked  contribution  to  our  really  native  fiction.  —Hartford  Daily 
Courant. 


PUBLISHED  BY  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK. 

The  above  work  sent  by  mail,  postage  prepaid,  to  any  part  of  the 
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BEN-HUE:  A  TALE  OF  THE  CHRIST. 

By  LEW.  WALLACE.    New  Edition  from  New  Electrotype 
Plates,     pp.  560.    46mo,  Cloth,  $1  50;  Half  Calf,  $3  00. 


Anything  so  startling,  new,  and  distinctive  as  the  leading  feature  of 
this  romance  does  not  often  appear  in  works  of  fiction.  .  .  .  Some  of 
Mr.  Wallace's  writing  is  remarkable  for  its  pathetic  eloquence.  The 
scenes  described  in  the  New  Testament  are  re-written  with  the  power 
and  skill  of  an  accomplished  master  of  style. — N.  Y.  Times. 

Its  real  basis  is  a  description  of  the  life  of  the  Jews  and  Romans  at 
the  beginning  of  the  Christian  era,  and  this  is  both  forcible  and  brill 
iant.  .  .  .  We  are  carried  through  a  surprising  variety  of  scenes;  we 
witness  a  sea-fight,  a  chariot-race,  the  internal  economy  of  a  Roman 
galley,  domestic  interiors  at  Antioch,  at  Jerusalem,  and  among  the 
tribes  of  the  desert;  palaces,  prisons,  the  haunts  of  dissipated  Roman 
youth,  the  houses  of  pious  families  of  Israel.  There  is  plenty  of  ex 
citing  incident;  everything  is  animated,  vivid,  and  glowing. — N.  Y. 
Tribune. 

From  the  opening  of  the  volume  to  the  very  close  the  reader's  in 
terest  will  be  kept  at  the  highest  pitch,  and  the  novel  will  be  pro 
nounced  by  all  one  of  the  greatest  novels  of  the  day. — Boston  Pout. 

It  is  full  of  poetic  beauty,  as  though  born  of  an  Eastern  sage,  and 
there  is  sufficient  of  Oriental  customs,  geography,  nomenclature,  etc., 
to  greatly  strengthen  the  semblance. — Boston  Commonwealth. 

"  Beu-Hur  "  is  interesting,  and  its  characterization  is  fine  and  strong. 
Meanwhile  it  evinces  careful  study  of  the  period  in  which  the  scene  is 
laid,  and  will  help  those  who  read  it  with  reasonable  attention  to  real 
ize  the  nature  and  conditions  of  Hebrew  life  in  Jerusalem  and  Ro 
man  life  at  Autioch  at  the  time  of  onr  Saviour's  advent.— Examiner, 
N.  Y. 

It  is  really  Scripture  history  of  Christ's  time,  clothed  gracefully  and 
delicately  in  the  flowing  and  loose  drapery  of  modern  fiction.  .  . ,  Few 
late  works  of  fiction  excel  it  in  genuine  ability  and  interest. — N.  Y. 
Graphic. 

One  of  the  most  remarkable  and  delightful  books.  It  is  as  real  and 
warm  as  life  itself,  and  as  attractive  as  the  grandest  and  most  heroic 
chapters  of  history. — Indianapolis  Journal. 

The  book  is  one  of  unquestionable  power,  and  will  be  read  with  un 
wonted  interest  by  many  readers  who  are  weary  of  the  conventional 
novel  and  romance. — Boston  Journal. 


PUBLISHED  BY  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK. 

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14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
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